


To Remember and Grieve

by nowdeconstruct



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape/Non-con References, Self Harm, Sexual Content, slight dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:46:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowdeconstruct/pseuds/nowdeconstruct
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torture has always been something Dean Winchester knows a little about. He lived through thirty years of it in Hell, dished it out to souls for ten years after, and many times, experiences it quite often during hunts. Now, after months of torture at the hands of a particularly skilled and inventive demon, only a short time after his venture into Hell and subsequent torment by Alastair, he finds himself battered and in need of comfort and repair as he recovers from yet another endeavor meant to break him. Memories begin to flood him daily, tearing his already frayed sanity to bits, and he finds he is unable to cope with remembering. That is, until he begins taking solace in a certain blue-eyed angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Savior

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in ages, and I wanted to see what people think. Unbeta'd but thoroughly edited twice.
> 
> This story is set in season five, right after the events of The End.

"Now this is fucking fantastic!"

Lying on a cold floor was a dirty individual, bleeding from every inch of skin visible. His clothes were tattered to shreds, hair disheveled to the point where it looked as if it hadn't been washed in weeks, and a weak voice as he muttered sarcastically. He pulled at a cuff that held him in place against a steel pole jutting out from the floor, grimacing at the pain he felt with every movement.

There were no sounds, no smells, nothing that could tell him where he was. The only thing he saw was the pulsing light from a bulb on the ceiling, glaring at him, watching his every movement as he pulled at his arm, trying his best to release himself from the confines of his imprisonment. There were no windows and no exits, except for a large, steel door, and he could deduce that he was underground somewhere, in some mysterious place, trapped to suffer alone in silence. Where else could silence be so deafening? He wanted to scream in frustration and anger, unable to believe he was caught in such a predicament. He had been so careful, managed to fight them for so long, just to be caught like this, thrown into prison and tortured, so they could extract what they needed from him.

"God dammit!"

He screamed, a long shout that rang through the quiet, breaking the calm and creating chaos all around him.

The temperature of the room suddenly skyrocketed, and he was sweating profusely in moments. The heat was scorching; he could hardly stay seated on the floor without feeling the pressure building around him, clawing at his calm and tearing it to pieces. Sounds exploded in vivid detail, droplets of water from the ceiling, the sounds of shouts and screams, sickening laughter, and the very foundation creaking around him. They were enough to drive any man insane.

He crawled toward the wall in a rush, sitting against it, holding his hands against his ears in an attempt to return the silence. He had craved something, anything to break it, but now, his ears were being assaulted. Before he could shout again in panic, he heard the distinct bang of a door. He dropped his hands immediately, staring fixated at the large steel frame several feet away. Gripping his knees to his chest, tears streamed from his eyes in a rush. He wanted nothing more than to drop his head and look away, but something kept his gaze plastered to that door. It was a force, a bright beacon that called to him, whispering his name and motioning him forward.

Light burned through the creaks, blinding him momentarily, and for a moment, he was glad. He had to close his eyes to the assault, the pain was too great. A rippling buzz tore through the sounds, deafening him, making him fall onto the ground in agony. Then panic swallowed him whole and tore at his mind, ripping the last semblance of sanity he seemed to possess to shreds. He screamed at the top of his lungs before he began to shake uncontrollably, his eyes bulging out of his head in expectancy, as if he knew what was to come when whoever was behind that door reached him. They were going to torture him again, rip his body to pieces and then heal him as if it was nothing, just to play with him all over again. It was a miserable existence, being the plaything of demons and being thrust around and knocked silly for their enjoyment.

The sounds and the light fell out of existence just as quickly as they had come, but he was already ruined by them, crying frantically. The door opened, more-so it flew off its hinges as a creature stepped inside, walking toward him. There was another light shining through the doorway, but it was much less blinding than the last. It seemed to surround the creature and poured through his very soul, and though he was terrified, he began to take solace in the fact that calm swirled from that body and suffused through him. He could make out a silhouette centered in the limelight, strong and tall, and it descended upon him. The last thing he remembered was a pair of piercing blue eyes as he fell into oblivion.

* * *

"Dean? Dean!"

A frantic voice was calling him, pulling him from the abyss and dragging his mind out of the dark.

His eyes fluttered open, expecting to see black eyes peering down at him with ill-content. Instead, familiar brown met his gaze, and in that moment, he could hardly contain himself as several fat tears rolled down his cheeks. He gripped the broad shoulders above him tightly after pulling himself up, and practically slammed his brother into his chest, arms wrapping around him instinctively into a bear hug. He could feel the sudden gasp of surprise, but he didn't care. Months had gone by since he had last seen Sam, ever since they had learned that he was meant to be the true vessel of Lucifer. It had hurt him so deeply, ravaged his core, and he couldn't help but escape. Sam had left him because it wasn't wise to be near him. As he put it, he didn't want to put anyone in danger because of what he was meant to be. Dean had thought it best to separate, but it had been hard.

The worst part about the entire ordeal was when Zachariah had sent him forward in time. He had seen the future, knew what was going to happen, how Lucifer would take control of his brother after he said yes. After that day, Dean had tried anything to get his brother to come back, but he had never answered his phone. For two weeks, he had done nothing but look for him. It took a lot out of him; after all, he was the one to send his brother away, telling him they were better off apart for a while. It would be his fault if his brother truly decided to say yes, and he continued on until he could no longer. He had endured, hunting on his own, until the day where he had been trapped by several demons. There was no help coming for him at that moment, and they had grabbed him.

He remembered everything that had been done, from the stinking cage they had him lying in the first few nights, surrounded by feces and the stench of death, to the room that had been his prison for several days. He remembered how the demons had ripped into his flesh, so much like his time in Hell, though the agony had tripled due to his human form. He could see them, clear as day, grinning at him as they strapped him to a table. He felt their hands on his body, touching him in ways he had never imagined. Even in Hell, he hadn't experienced some of the torture they put him through – regardless of the fact that Alastair was Hell’s crowning torture-master. He couldn't stop thinking of the ways they had tainted him, and it gave him pause. He gripped his head tightly, hoping to dispel the images that were quickly circulating.

"Did you hear me, Dean?"

Dean flinched at the voice and pulled away, staring at his brother. He didn't smile, hell; he didn't think he was capable of smiling ever again. All of his torture in hell was swirling through his mind, the torture he had still been getting over before this had happened. Now? Everything was much worse, he could envision his time in Hell and his time with the demons on Earth. He sighed before walking away from Sam, still unable to believe his brother was in front of him, alive and well, and not possessed by Lucifer. Before he could go anywhere, however, he glanced in the corner of the room at the second presence. Castiel kept his distance, eyes seemingly burning into his soul, and Dean had to look away from the scrutiny.

"Thanks, Cas," he choked, trying his best to contain the sadness that was welling inside of hin, "dunno what I would have done without you."

The angel had saved him once before, from the fiery depths of hell, and he had rescued him again from the hands of the demon horde. Dean knew this was so because he remembered piercing blue eyes looking down upon him as he cowered in fear. He hated that the angel continued to see him at his worst, but there wasn’t much to be done about it, given the fact that he was his savior. He continued to save him, each time explaining that he would be of use, that God had a plan for him, that he was needed. Though that was certain, he couldn't understand why he was the one that always saved him. There were other angels, other beings out there who needed him as well. He always jumped headfirst into the pit, literally, and wouldn't give up until he had him in his grasp. However, Dean couldn't figure out why it always took so long. By time Castiel had rescued him, each time, he had been broken to pieces. He eyed the angel for one long moment before turning around to look at Sam.

"I'm fine, Sam. Where've you been all this time? I was looking for you for weeks. Couldn't pick up the phone, could you?"

His voice sounded a bit strained, as if he was hurt that his brother hadn't cared enough to look out for him as well.

Sam's face contorted into a frown, and he slumped over in apology. Dean was surprised he didn't tear into his brother's ass for leaving and staying gone when he needed him, especially after how frazzled he had been when he had come back from the End. He had left message after message on his phone, hoping his brother would come back and hunt with him like old times. Dean struggled with emotions for a moment, wanting to feel anger, but the only feeling he had was relief. His brother was safe, he was alive and well, and they were finally together. No matter what had transpired previously, that would never change. They were together again, the Winchester boys, with their mysterious angel in tow.

"Dean… you know why I left. I couldn't put you in harm's way, what with Lucifer practically breathing down my neck."

His voice was cracking, as if he regretted immediately what he said.

"Little too late for that, Sam."

Dean choked, raising his voice just a bit. He was never one for self-pity, or needing pity from anyone else, but damn if he didn't sound like he wanted a shoulder to cry on.

"Look, man, I need some time, okay? I'm glad you're here, but just give me a minute, okay? I need some food, some sleep… Hell, just leave me alone for a day. Don't leave, though. We still need to talk."

Dean turned away from him immediately, and finally started to notice his surroundings, and the pain that was tearing at his body. Though he healed each time the demons tore into him, this last time he was still pretty battered. It was strange, but he ignored it, knowing he would recover in time.

A gasp of surprise left his lips when he came tumbling down from the rush of adrenaline when he first woke up. Everything hurt, and as he looked down at himself, he saw he was covered in bandages of varying sizes. He knew he must look like hell, but he didn't bother with glancing in a mirror. The knowing gaze of Castiel was enough to tell him how vulnerable he must look. Those eyes were filled with concern, no matter how hard he was trying to hide it, and it had Dean feeling slightly strange. He turned his head immediately, needing to think of something else, rather than the blue of his gaze.

Glancing around the room, he noticed it was yet another hotel. He was lying on a soft bed, much unlike the stone he had been lying on as the demons worked on him. There were two beds in the room, one covered with clothes and other essentials. He glanced at Sam before his brother lifted his hands in defeat, leaving the room without another word. Dean was certain he would get another hotel room, and he wouldn't bother him for at least a few hours, and that was just what he needed: just a bit of time to himself before he had to explain what happened.

Lifting his head, he glanced at the angel, who was still staring at him with an intent gaze. He assumed he would have left by now, but the look in his eyes told him Castiel had some things to discuss. After he had freed him from hell, Dean always felt as though they shared something special. Castiel had explained it was a profound bond, or something equally ridiculous, but he was beginning to understand it as he felt the pull between them. They had quickly become friendly with one another; though Dean wasn't particularly sure he could trust him yet. He was still an angel, and those motherfuckers all seemed to be against him. Still, he did continue to prove himself each time he saved him.

"Dean, I…"

For a split second, Dean could see something in his eyes he could not identify. A glint that made the blue seem lighter. But it dissolved into a strong sense of guilt, and he damn well understood that particular feeling. Dean Winchester was the fucking king of guilt.

"What's up, Cas?"

He tried to sound as normal as possible, but his voice was still incredibly strained from all the screaming. He was hoarse, needed a good drink of water or something that would quench his thirst, but he didn’t feel up to the challenge of standing just yet.

Castiel eyed him warily before taking several steps toward him. He stood over the small bed, staring down at him, and Dean found himself feeling slightly uncomfortable. He was practically naked, for fuck sake, only covered by bandages and a pair of loose shorts. He pulled the bed sheet around him, pretending he was cold, and looked up into those blue eyes. Castiel always looked like he held the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Dean could almost believe that he did. Dean moved over a bit, giving the angel some room to sit down so he wouldn't feel quite as awkward. He didn't like the way he was staring down at him. Castiel quietly sat down, and for the first time, he looked away from him. Dean almost thought he looked flustered.

"I could not find you, Dean. The demons took precaution against my kind, barring me from finding the building you were being held in. I… I tried to find you, I even alerted Sam of your disappearance. By the time we found you, it was too late. I am sorry, Dean."

Though Castiel always stared at him, he wasn't looking at him now, and the thought kind of made Dean take pity on the angel. He lifted himself up somewhat, the sheet falling down his chest, but he paid no mind as he dropped a hand on his shoulder. He felt something inching into his subconscious, scratching away at what was true and safe. The way the angel stared at him was unnerving, as if he was the sun in the sky.

"Cas, it's all right. Okay? You hear me, man? You saved me, that's all that matters. Yeah, it was hell, literally, but I can get past it. Don't feel guilty because you couldn't get to me in time, yeah? I'm a big boy, I can handle it. Thanks for getting me out of there. When I saw you, you wouldn't believe the relief that washed over me. I owe you my life, man. Again. It seems like I’m always in your debt."

Dean squeezed his shoulder only slightly, unable to believe he was actually comforting an angel after what he had experienced. He felt bad for putting Castiel through everything he had inflicted upon him. How many times did the angel have to save him from desperate situations before he could take care of himself? He felt as if he was taking advantage of him, a bad feeling if there ever was one, and he wanted desperately to make it up to him.

Castiel glanced at him then, and Dean had no time to prepare for what had happened next. The angel closed the distance between them, and for a moment, Dean had assumed he was back to his lack of personal space self. But it was much worse than that. Personal space was thrown out the damn window when Castiel placed his lips softly on Dean's, lifting his arms instinctively around him, and pulled him close. The feel of warm lips against his was foreign at first, having been in a cage and battered for months, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

Dean's first thought was to push him away, scream bloody murder, and rip the angel a new one. But the feeling was good, something he hadn’t expected. Castiel didn't move away, simply lingered there against his lips, and his heart was beating erratically. Dean's tongue slithered through the angel's mouth, creating a heavenly friction against the angel's own tongue that brought Castiel out of his sweet reverie and into a sudden pit of fire that consumed him. The kiss was sweet, much gentler than most women he’d been with in his short life, and he couldn’t help but fall into it. Months without any kind of positive, physical connection had caused Dean to pull the angel closer, not caring at the moment that he was a man, or not even human, as he rocked against him, tongues dueling sloppily for control.

"Hey, Dean! I-"

The sound of Sam's voice brought Dean out of his lust crazed liplock with an angel, for fuck sake, and he pushed Castiel away from him with a jolt, eyes wild as he stared up at his brother. The angel seemed to take this as a good time to leave, and he zapped away without a word. Dean stared at his brother, and would have laughed at the look on his face, if only he hadn't just been caught kissing his best friend, the _angel_ and _man_ , fucking Castiel! Dean was breathing heavily, and Sam wasn't moving an inch, still staring like he couldn't believe what was happening. Dean came to his senses almost immediately, though the raging hard-on under the sheet was making it very hard to concentrate.

"What the fuck!"

He screamed at the top of his lungs, and Sam ran out of the room in a panic. The scream was out of surprise, and perhaps a twinge of uncertainty. He didn’t know what he was getting himself into, kissing the angel with fervor equal to a horny teenager, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he cared.


	2. Broken

_“We never knew you to be silent, boy. You were so vocal in Hell, screaming and crying in agony as we twisted the blades in your flesh. You were much more vocal during the first weeks in Hell than this. So much more entertaining. Don't you remember those experiences? You had such a mouth on you. You were so very deserving of your trip to the Pit. All my many years, I have never heard such depravity. This response is pathetic.”_

_The demon glanced down at him, enjoying his battered state. His black eyes were gleaming as he watched Dean suffer through his taunting.  Dean was lying flat on a stone altar, covered in blood from head to toe, but he was silent. For hours, he said nothing, simply accepted his torture as a part of his fate. He could not escape them, because down here, there was no way to avoid the torture. They weren't going to offer him an alternative, like torturing others, because this wasn’t about making him like them, no._

_This was an interrogation, and the only way he could find freedom would be to tell them what they wanted to know, where Sam was currently located. Unfortunately, he didn't know, not like he’d tell them if he did. Ever since he had practically groveled for his brother to come back with him, Sam had begun seeing everything differently. He had changed his mind, and decided to stay away, even going so far as to not answering his phone anymore. Sam wanted nothing more than to make sure nothing happened to him, that he was safe. And to think, he wanted to return only days before, even though Dean had rejected him countless times. It was kind of funny, in a way, like fate was punishing them. Regardless, the demon wasn't going to get much information from him about his wayward brother, and so, he could do nothing but stare up at him, anticipating the torture that was sure to continue, and stay as silent as he could. To give in would be a weakness, and he had learned from Hell that it didn’t lead unto a better road._

_“Still quiet, hmm? Well, I know a way that will loosen your tongue.”_

_The demon's voice rose in a sing-song tone, reminding Dean that he was enjoying himself immensely. He was a lot like Alastair, taunting, making jokes, and singing through bloodshed. Let the bastard have his fun, but there would come a time when his vengeance would be swift. His eyes filled with malice as he watched the demon pull a knife from underneath the altar. It was rusted and dangerously sharp, and though Dean was feeling particularly strong, the sight made him utter a small gasp of alert._

_Hours had passed after his last torture session, as if the demons had lost their patience with him and needed some time away or they would kill him. This creature was new; at least, he had never seen him before, though he spoke as if he recognized Dean somehow, like he was around during his tenure in Hell. There were perhaps two reasons why they switched in the torture schedule. Maybe he was a new recruit and wasn't necessarily as talented in the art of torture as the others, or the more obvious reason, he was just a replacement for the moment, had all the skills, and would probably be the first to get Dean to cry in agony. He did seem to know what he was doing, ruling out the possibility that he was a beginner, and the thought made him cringe._

_“I'm going to ask you one more time before I make you very uncomfortable. Where is your brother? Where is Sam Winchester?”_

_He kept his mouth shut, biting the inside of his cheek as he watched. He wasn't going to say a word, regardless of how the pain was affecting him. He lived through thirty years of it in Hell, and he wasn't going to succumb to a few weeks of it on Earth, that was for damn sure. His eyes spoke volumes, telling the demon to go ahead, showing him he wasn't going to relent. The demon took this as a challenge and sliced down his mid-section. The pain was instantaneous, blood gushing immediately from the wound, but even so, Dean didn't make a sound. He simply stared, taking it like a man, knowing he would full well have revenge._

_The thought caused a grin to spring up onto his face, causing the demon to back up just a bit in apprehension. Dean felt as though he had scared the demon until he began shaking uncontrollably at the twist of the blade in his midsection, losing all of his false courage and strength. The demon’s face was contorted into a snarl for what seemed like ages, until finally, he laughed in success, feeling incredibly victorious that he had managed to get a reaction, no matter how strange._

_“Seems I'll be able to get to you after all. I might not be able to make you speak, but I'll work on trying to get you to scream. Maybe I'll even get you to cry. I know many methods to garner a reaction from a mere mortal.”_

_The demon grinned almost instantly, pulling the knife from his side and placing it close to his face. Dean stared at the blade, the blood dripping ominously, and wondered with pit in his stomach what was going to happen next. He was still shaking, noticing how sharp the blade looked. He was used to sharp weapons, handled them frequently, but when they were used as an instrument against him, well, he wasn’t too happy about them. He couldn’t take his eyes off of it until a chill ran down his spine. The demon practically sat on his chest, constricting his air supply and making him gasp. He glanced up, only for a moment, to see a different kind of look in the demon’s eye. The look of lust, something he had never managed to see during his stay in Hell. Alastair had never been interested in anything but cutting him open and using creative torture to make him relent. This, however, was a completely different ballgame. It made Dean gag, that look, and at that moment, he wanted to scream more than he ever had in his life._

_“Many methods, Dean. Not just simple physical torture, I’m afraid. I’ll burrow into that mind of yours, claw my way through your deepest, darkest secrets. But do you know what else I’ll do?”_

_Black eyes closed momentarily, and the look of pure rhapsody etched across the demon’s face was enough of an incentive for Dean’s mind to go into overdrive. He struggled at his bonds, with absolutely no luck, feeling rather vulnerable in that one moment. His tough exterior fell and broke to pieces, as if there was nothing worse than the look on the demon’s face. The bastard bent downward, placing his chest against his own, his head notched against his neck. The demon took one long breath before he slid his tongue down the side of his throat. The feeling caused Dean to shake, fear taking control of his strength and making him shrivel, his stomach rolling in waves. He wanted nothing more than to throw up at the contact, the foul wetness of the demon’s tongue making his insides churn. Hands clenched tightly against his shoulders, pulling him upward, closer to the demon’s skin. The demon placed his mouth against his ear for a moment and chuckled lightly._

_“I’m going to possess you, Dean. And allow me to clear some things up for you. I will be entering your body, but not in the traditional sense. I’m going to throw you on your stomach, rip through your clothing, and mark you like a whore. I’ll take you on this altar until you bend to my will. I may even end up making you enjoy your time with me. Let me tell you, it wouldn’t be a first. I’m something of an expert. Still, I’d prefer if you didn’t enjoy it. Your screams of fear and cries of horror will be enough to get me off for years to come.”_

_At that moment, a wall came crashing down in his mind, and Dean screamed until he could no longer, until his throat bled from overuse, until he was crying in agony, wishing for a reprieve, something to save him – death would be welcomed._

* * *

“Dean!”

His eyes slammed open at the sound of the gravelly voice, and he stopped screaming when he realized what was going on. It had only been a dream, and he was not back in that cell, being tortured for God knows how many hours. He was not beneath the demon, being defiled and ruined for his pleasure. He took a deep breath, his lungs feeling as if they were filled with water, and he turned to stare at the man at the foot of his bed. But only, it wasn't a man. Castiel looked at him with those caring eyes, watching out for him, and the only emotion that seemed to stir from that look was concern. However, Dean grew angry underneath that sweet gaze. He tried to get out of bed, to get away, to have just a bit of time to himself. He would have succeeded if not for the angel placing a hand on his chest. He flinched instinctively, pulling away.

Castiel seemed to take it personally, and stood up, walking away from Dean to give him the space he needed. He didn't say anything, eyes downcast on the floor, and Dean was too pissed off to feel thankful. The dream seemingly forgotten, he threw his legs over the side of the bed, trying his best not to pull anything on his quest to stand. He stood slowly, getting used to the feel of his legs after sitting and lying for so long, but he wobbled for a second, feeling a bit dizzy, and sat down again. The best thing to do would be to stay collected and calm, but he could already tell that wasn’t going to happen. He could feel Castiel's eyes on him again, staring at his back vigilantly. He tried to ignore the rush of heat that rose in his body, but it was impossible. There was a twinge of fear because of that heat, making him shake. He huffed in rage before standing up more quickly this time, and for a moment, he felt more sure-footed.

As it turned out, the standing had been a bad idea. He went flying forward, barreling into the nightstand. He knocked the rickety lamp from the table, sending it crashing into the floor and breaking in two. Castiel rushed to his side, fear lining his all too serious expression, and he held a hand out to grab him before he hurt himself. Dean slapped it away, a frown lining his features, soon replaced by an angry snarl.

The memories of the night before were all too clear in his mind. He could feel the way Castiel's lips touched his, the taste of smooth angel as his tongue waged war against his own. He remembered the heat that had been radiating from their bodies as they touched, and the thought was associated with something entirely new – disgust. Sure, he hadn't been too happy with Castiel kissing him, mostly because they were friends and he was a straight male, but that didn't bother him as much as it should have. Though he kissed him, Castiel was inexperienced in the ways of the flesh and desire, and he probably didn't know what else to do at that given moment.

No, he was disgusted, because now, he could only feel the touch of the demon, could only think about the demon’s tongue against his throat, and his hand on his back. Last night, he hadn’t been thinking clearly, the memories hadn’t been strong enough to cause him any discomfort. He had been seeking comfort, wanting peace after a storm. Now, however, his skin crawled at the prospect of being kissed, or touched, or even thought of in an amorous manner. Laughter rang in his head, the sound of the demon taunting him. For a moment, he felt his insides tighten at the prospect of being used, abused, and the idea made him rush away on his knees. The pain was intense, but he couldn’t be close to the angel – the proximity was making him sweat.

“Don't touch me!”

The look on Castiel's face was suddenly filled with sadness and a sense of rejection, and Dean wanted to apologize, to explain to him what happened, but the words caught in his throat.  He couldn’t share his torment with him, or anyone, not yet, even though he was sure Castiel knew what had been done to him. He was an angel, was probably well versed in the ways demons tortured other beings, considering they seemed to always be at war with them. Still, he couldn’t tell him about anything, couldn’t bear to see those wide eyes stare at him. Dean was practically snarling at Castiel at this point, and the angel couldn’t handle it.

He disappeared, that familiar sound of wings flapping, and Dean was left alone in the silent room. He sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling a variety of emotions: anger, apprehension, and then grief over the departure of one of his only friends. The anger quickly dissolved to guilt in a matter of moments, a feeling he was all too familiar with. He had treated his friend like common trash, pushing him away and feeling angry with him, even though it wasn't his fault for what had happened to him. He was seconds away from praying for him to return before Sam opened the front door, walking inside like he owned the place. Considering he was probably paying for the room, Dean should feel less inclined to punch him in the face.

“I brought you some food. I thought you could use something to eat after what you've been through.”

His entire body stiffened in that instant his brother spoke, and sweat pooled at his temples, his temperature probably skyrocketing as all the blood rushed to his face. Sam had walked in on the kiss last night, had seen how he reacted to Castiel’s touch, and Dean was pretty embarrassed about it; after all, they were dudes, he was straight, Castiel was an angel. He had come alive in that angel’s arms however, and though Sam had seen him with women before, it was nothing like the heat, the straight intensity, that they displayed last night. Dean bunched his fists into the blanket, willing himself to calm down before he pushed the thoughts away completely, trying his best to ignore the elephant in the room.

Sam closed the door, walking deeper into the room with a calm air about him, and Dean could feel his eyes burning into him. He was glad to see his brother again, happy they were reunited, but he wasn't ready for the looks that could be on Sam's face, one being the copyrighted Sam face that made him look like a fucking puppy, or his knowing expression that would make Dean red-faced and run. He was worried, that much was certain, and soon, he was going to have to tell him about everything that transpired during his torture, not to mention what was going on with Cas. At least, enough to give him an idea. He would leave some things out; of course, some things that would make his brother see him in a different light. He couldn’t hide everything, after all, they had already lied countless times to each other in their lives, and after he had seen what could have happened in the future, he didn't want to hide much from his brother. Not anymore. Just… he couldn’t tell him everything.

“Thanks, man.”

Dean’s voice was guttural and faked, as if he was trying to be nice even though there were so many things running through his mind. He cleared his throat before feeling a little more comfortable. It still felt like he had glass in there, but fortunately, it was manageable. Slowly he stood again, finding it much easier to keep his balance without Castiel staring at him with that hot gaze. He walked toward the table that was situated in the center of the room and took a seat. The pain was immediate, a stabbing feeling in his backside as he sat on the hard wooden surface, and he regretted his actions immediately. Still, he didn't move to stand up or give his brother any inclination that he was in pain. He reached across the table for the bag of food, and rummaged through it for a cheeseburger and some fries. There was even a pie at the bottom of the bag, and he found himself grinning at the gesture.

He loved his brother.

“So… how are you feeling?”

Scratch that, he hated him.

He didn't want to talk about anything just yet – it was still too raw. Taking a bite of his burger, he closed his eyes in abandon as the flavor danced against his tongue. It had been so long since he had eaten anything but gruel and raw meat, and the taste was outstanding. He ripped through the sandwich in seconds, taking the fries down with it. There were more in the bag, as if Sam had known he would be starving, and he ripped through package after package, stuffing his face. He downed the soda that had no doubt come with the meal, and reached for a bottle of water afterward, suddenly feeling parched. Cool liquid felt like Heaven against his dry throat.

It hadn’t taken long before the sudden feeling of being over-full consumed him, and he staggered to the bathroom, falling to his knees in front of the toilet. He threw up – all that delicious food, gone in a matter of seconds. He hadn’t tried to pace himself, even though he knew this was going to happen. Sam stood in the doorway and looked positively crazed with worry. Dean wiped his mouth before he stood, his body working overtime to hold him up. Sam was probably going to tell him that he needed to stay holed up in the hotel for another night, since he was weak and could hardly move. There was no way in hell he was going to stay there a minute longer. Turning around, he met his brother’s eyes for a split second before looking away, the memories of the night before, and the way he had been used by the demon not long ago, zipping through his head. He washed his hands after flushing away the meal, and headed for the front door slowly, body still aching. The need for fresh air was just too great, the room was just too stuffy, filled with untold secrets and hidden discrepancies.

“Hey, wait. You can’t leave yet! Come on, Dean!”

He ignored him as he pulled the door open, the fresh air hitting him instantly. It was mid-October, and the cool weather was just beginning to roll in. The chill caused the hairs on the back of his neck to lift, and he stood there a moment, simply enjoying the feeling. He was relieved to be able to feel the wind on his face again. He stepped outside, unable to hide the joy on his face at the prospect of being outdoors, in the fresh air and surrounded by greenery and civilization. For what seemed like months, he had been trapped in that dungeon, most likely underground. He hadn’t seen daylight in so long, and now the sun was shining down upon him, the warm feeling great against his skin. He knew he was being ridiculous. He lived through Hell, through the fires of eternal damnation. And yet, Hell had never affected him like this.

Of course, he hadn’t been physically violated in Hell.

As the thought pierced through his calm, he walked into the hotel room in a rush and threw on a pair of pants and a clean t-shirt, which had been placed carefully on the nightstand at first, then littered on the floor after his legs gave out moments ago. He knew who left the clothing for him, and the gesture touched him deeply, but he ignored the sudden jolt of feeling and just started walking. He kept going, with no destination in mind. He needed to get away, to be by himself for a while. Sam followed him, naturally, but he didn’t speak, the silence actually a comfort, unbelievable as that seemed. He simply walked beside him, there if he needed someone to talk to. Sam was always the smart one, he knew when trauma was too much for someone to bear. Though he understood, Dean knew he’d question him eventually. And, just in time, his brother walked ahead of him, holding his hands out in front of his body in an effort to make him stop. Dean ignored the gesture and walked right by him, staring at the sky, trying his best to travel to a different place – a different time, to happier circumstances.

Except there were no happy circumstances in Dean’s world.

“Dean, man, we’re going to have to talk about this. About… everything.”

Dean flinched at the words and shook his head vehemently. He knew Sam would be able to figure him out soon, since his mannerisms were completely different from before the torture. He walked with less confidence, bruises littered his flesh, and he jumped at every sound around him. Then again, Sam probably knew he went through some kind of torture in the last few weeks. Hell was one thing, but adding onto that with another bout of the cut and jab? There are only so many things a guy can take before he breaks. And the thing with Castiel? Shit, he didn’t even know what that was, so how the hell could he talk about it?

Dean heard Sam sigh in exasperation, but his brother doesn’t give up on him. He continued walking with him, that same caring expression etched across his features. He wanted to help, just like Castiel, and Dean found himself growing angry again – everyone wanted to help, but no one had been punctual. Every time someone wanted to give their aid, they always ended up being late. He wanted to scream and shout and tell his brother to leave him alone, but he didn’t bother with throwing the tantrum. He simply picked up his stride, walking just a little faster. He realized he was walking with a limp, and tries to pay it no mind, but the idea made him cringe. Sam could probably put two and two together just at the sight. His eyes closed tightly in anxiety. He just wanted to feel normal after the hellish ordeal, and the pain in his ass was anything but normal. The thought was enough to break his stride, and he stumbled for a moment before he caught himself, before Sam could help him by gripping him tight and holding him up.

They walked in silence, nothing else to talk about, an air of sympathy, embarrassment, and anger hanging over their heads.


	3. Denial

The following day, Dean awoke to an empty motel room and a throbbing headache. He glanced around for a moment, wondering why there was no one standing over his bed staring at him with concern. Taking a deep breath, he threw the blankets off, ignoring the way they fell onto the floor. The dreams continued, and were only getting worse. He knew they would keep coming, since he had dreamt for months after his ordeal in Hell. They had never been particularly pleasant, given the tortures he had to live through. These new dreams, however, had nothing to do with slicing and dicing, they were hitting a more personal vein. The only thing he could do was push them away, stop thinking about what had happened, and live his life to the best of his ability. Standing up, he felt much better than yesterday – he was able to walk now, or at least with less pain, and his body didn't ache as badly. Mentally, he was still pretty battered, but he was Dean Winchester, and he could deal with it. There was no way he was about to ask the angel to heal him, he could deal with his own pain.

Trudging toward the kitchen counter, he opened the refrigerator door and chuckled. Sam had managed to get him some more food, and he was grateful as he grabbed the bag of burgers and rushed to heat them up. Luckily, the room had a microwave, so he took his time heating the food, standing in front of the machine with a blank look on his face. His demeanor shifted almost immediately as he stared at the oscillating plate, watching the food spin. He was trying not to think, to remember, and simply exist while staring forward, blank. There were some things that were better off being pushed away and locked tight.

As the machine indicated the burgers were hot, the loud ‘ding’ broke through his calm and blank expression. He didn’t motion to take them out right away, simply stared ahead, his thoughts doing a number on his psyche. Trying to keep them at bay wasn’t really working, he could see the demon in his mind’s eye, above him, grinning, taking his pleasure where he could. His fingers gripped and tugged at his hair, feeling suddenly sickened and hurt. He tightened, pulling it out, the pain doing wonders. In several moments, he was back to normal, and he sighed as he opened the microwave door and pulled the food out, his hunger suddenly becoming overbearing as the thoughts quietly shriveled away. The plate he had placed them on was scorching, but he didn't feel the sting as he held it with both hands. Taking a seat at the table, he began to eat slowly, taking small bites and slowly cherishing every bite. He managed to keep the burgers down, and for that, he was glad.

Feeling just a bit better now that he had something in his stomach, he walked into the bathroom and shut the door, even though the room was empty. There were just some things he would have to do now to feel even a semblance of comfort, like closing doors or putting distance between himself and others. He locked the door on instinct, even though a locked door wouldn’t keep a demon from coming inside. It was silly, but he took a deep breath once he was surrounded by walls, feeling comfort in being alone. He kept his mind as empty as possible as he readied himself for the longest shower in his life. He undressed in a hurry, not wanting to see the bruises on his body in the mirror, and stepped into the shower with shaking legs.

The water was turned up all the way, the hottest setting available, and the burn affected him immediately. However, he didn't flinch or shy away from the water. Instead, he stood directly underneath it, needing the hot water to clean himself. He stood there like that, staring at the floor, for what seemed like hours. His eyes glazed back, and he knew he was lost to the memories as they clashed into him – ripping through his brain like claws.

* * *

_The fire was scalding, burning through his flesh and leaving several red gashes behind. His bleeding ceased as the fire struck, burning his flesh and destroying his sensitivity until he no longer had feeling in some areas. His body was practically destroyed, charred like meat on a grill, and the demon was laughing all the while, enjoying himself in the most sadistic way possible. Even Alastair hadn't taken this much pleasure in torturing him. The demon, who had introduced himself as Erial in the throes of his ecstasy, had become the staple in his torture. He was there at every moment, watching him, using him, cutting through flesh and ripping through bone. His gaze lingered on him always, as if he wanted something Dean could no longer give. When Dean screamed, cried, or made any type of response, Erial seemed to thrive on it. Dean had learned to stop making noise, to be silent and unresponsive, just like the beginning. As it turned out, that had been a bad idea. When Erial was left wanting, he became more than sadistic. He became downright malevolent._

_At the moment, he was going through a bit of a rough patch with the demon, who was taking too much pleasure burning through his flesh, trying to get a response out of him. So far, he wasn't having any luck. They had been through this routine for weeks, and Dean was used to the torture, used to the pain and the throbbing ache in his backside. He would never emotionally get over his time with the demon, but he knew whatever he did now, he could deal with it. He was strong, able-bodied, and though it was the worst possible outcome, he would live. He was still Dean Winchester, and though his time with Erial seemed like years had passed, he was sure it had only been a few weeks._

_There were times where he couldn't feel a sliver of hope, but others; he relied on the fact that he was a Winchester, strong as fuck and able to take the pain. He had spent years in Hell, what were a few more on Earth? When Erial first started burning him, it had hurt more than anything, and he had cried out in agony more times than he would like to admit. Hell had been different. Hell was cold, much unlike the rumors that it burned hot. It was freezing, swirled down into the bones and freezing them in place. The cold was one thing, but heat was an entirely different monster. He started getting used to it, however, dealing with the burn, and taking it in stride. He bit his lip, swallowed his cries, and took the pain like a man._

_"Scream for me, Dean Winchester. Scream in agony as I sear the flesh from your bones!"_

_Erial shouted into his ear, causing him to go deaf for a moment. He couldn't understand how he was able to torture him each day, without him dying from his injuries. He assumed they had some way to heal him, because each time he awoke from passing out, he was good as new, ready for more. They never spoke about it, never looked particularly surprised, so he just assumed that was the case. It was the same in Hell, anyway. He would be tortured for ages, and he would always heal, giving them more sport. On some level, he was glad he healed each night, mostly because he didn't want to die yet. Sure, the torture was horrible, and definitely more than he could handle most of the time, but he had things to do in life. Hunting, saving Sam, being there for people who needed him the most. He couldn't die because of some sick fuck demon. Stone-faced, he looked at Erial as he burned his flesh. He didn't bother with yelling, smiling, or anything, simply stared with intensity._

_That was when Erial stopped his ministrations, and simply stood in front of Dean, who was dangling on a rack not unlike the one in Hell, his arms and legs spread out, naked and covered in blood. But he didn't think about that. His mind was blank as he watched the demon, who was now staring at him curiously. He stopped yelling, stopped burning him, and just stood there. Dean didn't move or say a word, but his eyes said enough. Fire burned within them, much like the embers that scarred his flesh, and the demon could see that. He could see his resolve hardening, and Erial grinned at the prospect, mostly because he knew what was happening. Dean had been to Hell, and had done his own torturing – he knew how it worked._

_"Oh, Deany. The look you're giving me is making me warm all over."_

_With the comment, the seriousness of the situation dissolved, and Erial laughed in his face, a high-pitched laugh that would haunt him for years. Dean would have punched him if he wasn't strapped to the rack, the desire to shut him up incredible. As Erial walked around him, eyes glinting with mischief, Dean clenched and tightened up, quickly feeling uncomfortable, as if he knew what was coming. He felt hands, sliding across his body, making the bile rise in his throat. From behind, he heard the sound of clothing being shifted, and he tried to move his head to see what was happening, desperate to know. The pain was immediate, the rip of skin and the blood that oozed in quick succession making him want to scream, but he wouldn’t. He bit into his lips, blood dripping at the pressure, telling himself it would be all right, that he could live through the slap of skin against skin. Once he heard the grunts, and the cries, and felt the quick pummeling of Erial, he wanted to crawl into himself and float away._

_"You think you've won, asshole? You'll never break me again. Do whatever you want, but remember you're going to get yours in the end, you piece of shit. I'll never give in."_

* * *

 

The sound of Erial’s laughter after he had denied him filled his head, the memories coalescing into one another yet again. He could feel the burn from the water, and it should have bothered him after bringing up such memories, but it was a reprieve. Though he knew he could never be clean, forever in filth, the hot water was helping ever slightly. If he burned the flesh, perhaps one day, maybe, he could be washed of the sadness, of the guilt and disgust. The heat would never hurt him again. Glancing down at his body, he wanted to throw something. The fact that he had been violated repeatedly was killing him, and he snarled as he pummeled the tiles, knuckles bleeding after only a few seconds. He could still smell the demon on his skin, could feel him against his flesh, could taste the bastard in his mouth. It was sickening, and he wished he could just forget the pain, wished he could not remember the hours he had spent being used by the demon like a common whore.

He slammed his fists against the tiled wall again and again, the pain serving as a good distraction from the thoughts running through his brain. After a while, he sighed, grabbing the white bar of soap and cleaning himself.  He tore at bandages and let them fall to his feet, and started to obsess over washing, scratching his flesh repeatedly, trying to lather the dirt and grime away. He was filthy, forever tainted, and though the bar of soap would help, it would never get the stain off of his flesh. He didn't stop until he was bleeding, more blood swirling in the water, painting the white tile macabrely. He stared at the red mess before he placed the soap back into its cradle. Turning off the water, he left the shower with a grunt before wrapping a towel around his waist. Blood seeped through the white, fluffy material. The shower hadn’t helped, but it wouldn’t break his resolve. He would be fine, he would heal, no matter what he had to go through. He was disgustingly filthy, but he was still whole, and that had to count for something. As he walked into the main room to get his clothes, he was met with his brother standing in the doorway, and his bitchface that suggested he noticed the blood and wanted to say something about it.

"Hey, Sammy," he mumbled under his breath as he grabbed a pile of clothing at the edge of his bed, "what now?"

Sam looked at him in surprise, perhaps considering they hadn't spoken since last night. His surprise left in a hurry, however, when he remembered the sight in front of him – Dean knew concern when he saw it, and he was a damned sight to behold. His chest and arms were bloody, the towel already dyed a deep crimson, and droplets of red hitting the floor, caused Sam to gasp in alarm. He moved closer before Dean lifted a hand, shaking his head in a rush. As before, he crowded himself in a sea of denial. His brother was not judging him, he was not destroyed and beyond redemption, and he could handle everything that came at him. It was the same feeling that had overcome him during the third week of his torture. He was drowning in denial, but at least he wasn't crying as he was coddled.

"I'm fine, Sam. Just opened a few of my wounds in the shower, wasn't thinking straight. Gonna bandage myself up in a sec, didn't expect anyone would be around, man."

He didn’t tell him the blood was intentional, that he needed a second of reprieve, that he wanted the pain to dull his thoughts. Sam seemed to take the excuse with a grain of salt, nodding his head and closing the door behind him. His brother was incredibly smart, but sometimes, he was a little dense. Not that Dean minded. He just wasn't ready for that conversation he knew they needed to have – not to mention the explanation that pain was helping him through the ordeal. Pushing the thoughts away, he gripped the clothes before heading back inside the bathroom, leaving the door open to circulate some of the steam pouring out. Sam wouldn't think anything of the billowing steam; Dean had always liked hot showers. Sam didn't need to know exactly how hot he liked them now, however.

When he was bandaged and back to himself, which took quite a while, he dressed and left the bathroom. It took a bit of time to get the clothes on correctly, the pain and tiredness suddenly overbearing, but he managed. He hadn't asked for help because he didn't need his brother involved in patching him up, no matter how weak he was feeling. The weakness was a slap in the face since he was trying to tell himself he was fine, that there was nothing wrong, but that didn’t mean he was about to fall apart. He acted like there was no weakness, that he was back to normal. He stood beside his bed moments later, stretching his limbs. Earlier, he had felt better, as if he was getting back into his skin, but now, after he had gone berserk on his wounds, he felt somewhat dizzy from the blood loss. He couldn't stand for long before the light-headedness broke his confidence, and he sat on the edge of the bed in a rush. He tried to look as nonchalant as possible, but Sam would definitely see the sweat breaking on his brow, not to mention the paleness of his skin, and the overall sick appearance he projected.

"Are you doing better?"

Sam asked with a curious look in his eye, as if he knew he was going to lie. Dean didn't really care about the judging look; it wasn’t like he was able to look his brother in the eyes anyway, so it wasn't going to bother him as much as it should. Nodding his head, he lifted his feet and fell back, head on the pillow. He felt instant relief when he was no longer standing. Fainting was something he would never do, but he had come pretty close at that moment. He tried to look as normal as possible as he glanced at his brother, but he knew Sam would notice the lack of eye contact eventually. Still, he couldn’t drag his eyes forward.

"Yeah. Thanks for the burgers, they were awesome. I thought you were going to go health-nut on me and give me soup and a salad or something."

He laughed, a hollow sound even to his ears, but Sam didn’t point out his obvious faked mirth.

"Didn't think you'd appreciate those, even though they are better choices."

Dean chuckled, puffing his pillow a bit so he was sitting up, watching his brother fidget. He wasn't used to the nervousness Sam displayed, and it was making him a little antsy. Perhaps he was trying to figure out what he was hiding, or maybe he was thinking about what he had walked in on the other night, with him and Cas.

The sudden thought of the angel brought a flush to his cheeks and a pain in his heart that wouldn't go away, no matter how many times he took a deep breath and tried to forget. He hurt him, made him disappear, and Dean wasn't sure if he was going to come back. Dean _was_ sure Castiel knew what he had gone through since he had saved him from it, but maybe the extent of the damage was lost on the angel. As he watched Sam, he knew he needed to apologize to the angel for what happened. He was his friend, and he couldn't leave him in the dark, couldn't hurt him anymore, not after what he had done for him, what he had sacrificed. He had saved him twice, would do anything to protect him to the best of his ability. The least he could do was return the favor and be there when he needed him.

"Look, Dean... There's apparently something weird going on in the next town over. Something about married men getting ripped apart, one by one. I'm gonna take care of whatever's going on, but I'm gonna have to handle it on my own this time around. I got you a new phone and set up your contacts for you, with me included, so I'll keep you informed on what I find. Just try to get some more rest and get your strength back."

Dean didn't expect this, hell, he expected his brother to go on about Castiel, or anything but a hunt. His skin grew hot as his anger rose, and he moved so quickly, he thought he was finally fine. He stood up and started walking toward Sam in a rush, but crumpled to the floor short after in a huff. Sam rushed to help, but he muttered a word that closely resembled "fuck" as he climbed to his feet. He was all curses and stumbles then, holding onto the table to keep his balance, but anger kept him awake.

"Hell, no, Sammy! We go together or you don't go at all!"

Sam shook his head at that, walking to the door in a rush.

"No, Dean. You can't even stand. You need to recover. Fuck, you just fell over from getting up too fast, what makes you think you’ll last during a hunt? People are dying in big quantities, and though I want nothing more than to stay with you, this has to be done. Just stay here. I hunted for months by myself, I think I'll be okay now."

He didn't give Dean a chance to respond to that, he simply waved and ran out of the room quickly. Dean yelled and cursed, but there was just no reasoning with Sam once he was ready for a hunt. He was right, too. He had been alone for a while, while Dean was being tortured and even before that, so he could handle himself. Still, it was disconcerting to know his brother was out there alone, without any backup, especially against something that was ripping people apart. He screamed another curse before walking toward the door, glancing outside the door. Sam was gone, but there was something beautiful that caught his eye immediately.

"Baby!"

He opened the door, taking his time as he walked forward toward his baby, the ’67 Chevy Impala his father had given him several years ago. He loved the car, and at the moment, he didn't care how it had ended up in front of the hotel, nor did he care about his weakness or the tiredness that was eating away at him. Adrenaline pierced through his pain, and he walked up to the car, happily placing his palm on the hood. He could practically feel the love radiating from it. Well, not really, but he could dream.

Heading back into the room, he looked around for keys, and surprisingly, he found them hanging by the door. Grabbing them quickly, he rushed out of the door before getting into the car with an excited look on his face. It took a while, mostly because of his injuries, but once he was seated, he simply stared out of the window for a while, content to be inside the steel walls. For a second, he wondered why Sam hadn’t taken it, but then again, he probably had his own car stashed away nearby. Probably something flashy, definitely something he would disapprove of. At the moment, he didn’t care; he was glad he’d left his baby for him.

He felt strangely content sitting in the car, surrounded by good memories for a change. Well, as good as they could get for him. Memories of old hunts, drives in the middle of the night with Sam, even fun in the backseat with various women he’d met in his lifetime. Everything he can think of has been done in the car, and he could never get rid of her. She's his pride and joy, almost as important to him as Sammy, and no matter how many times she's been destroyed, he always repaired her. No matter what happens to him, she's always there. The thought is comforting, to say the least. He turned the key in the ignition, that familiar rumble making him feel more comfortable in his own skin.

Then he drove with no destination in mind.

He kept going, not sure where he'd end up, but not caring. The car had enough gas to last for quite a while, and he wanted to feel the wind in his hair, to feel free. He turned up the radio, and very apropos, the Metallica tune "Fight Fire with Fire" was playing. He turned it up higher until the volume was at its highest setting,  and tried not to pay attention to the subject matter, enjoying the ride and finally feeling at peace with himself after a hectic few months. He'd been tortured, raped, and subjugated, but no matter what happened, he always would have someone to return to. His brother, his car, and his angel.

That thought brings him to a screeching stop in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by mountain-side and trees. He just stopped, feeling his heart pulling in his chest, and turned the car off with a huff. Opening the door, he pulled himself out and stared into the blue of the sky. His angel. He didn't know why the thought had come to him, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Castiel. Cas. His friend, his savior, his fucking angel. He slapped his hands together, staring at that sky, and prayed. He prayed for the angel to come back, prayed he'd forgive him, and prayed he'd never leave. He closed  his eyes and fervently called Castiel to come down. He waited for the fluttering of wings, the sound that always makes his heart beat in his chest, waited with bated breath.

But when the sound didn’t come, he opened his eyes and sighed. He sat on the hood of his car, staring at that sky, wondering why he wouldn’t come. He felt his heart break in his chest at the prospect that he would never see him again. He had never felt particularly fond of Castiel, especially since he had been a hard-ass not too long ago, but he was starting to understand the angel more and more. They had grown much closer since he had first appeared. He had sacrificed everything for him, everything, and was still conflicted due to his angelic nature. He needed someone to hold his hand and teach him about the inner workings of humanity, just like Dean needed someone to help him through the denial, the burn that threatened to consume him.

He was about to leave when he heard it: the flapping of wings, and his heart jumped erratically. He turned to the right to see the familiar swirl of tan, and he felt his face light up almost immediately. Castiel looked sad and dejected, as if he wasn't ready to be rejected again, and Dean jumped off of the hood as quick as he could, heading for him. He tilted his head in confusion, as if he couldn't understand why Dean had prayed for him to return. The angel didn’t speak, but his silence was enough for Dean to figure out what he was thinking.

"Cas..."

Only a moment ago, he knew what he was going to say once he appeared. He was going to apologize and beg for his forgiveness. He was going to tell Castiel what he had been through, and why he was so hurt and broken. He had planned to say so much, but he couldn't get the words to leave his throat. They were stuck as he stared at the man before him, as he gazed into the vivid blue of his eyes and the innocent expression etched across his face. His guilt overruled his need for apology, and he felt the tears, hot and wet on his face, in an instant. Castiel stared at him, looking confused, and took a step forward, breaking the personal space rule by miles. His hand was on his cheek in a fleeting moment, wiping the tears away with a careful touch, and Dean fell apart because of the softness, the _caring_.

"Cas, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you, I'm sorry I made you feel like you do. You do everything for me, you've saved me, and I take my anger, my fucking rage out on you. Cas, the truth is... I'm fucked up. I don't know if I can recover from this, I don't know what's going to happen in my life. I just know that I don't ever want to hurt you."

Castiel stared at him for a good moment, not saying anything, and Dean almost believed that he didn’t understand what he was saying. When the angel placed a hand on his shoulder, right where the scar he carries of his hand lies, Dean's breath caught in his throat. He pulled him in for an embrace, just simply standing there, sharing his warmth. Dean fell into his arms, feeling the comfort and safety his angel could spply. They stand there for what seemed like days before Dean pulled away, staring up into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.

"Dean."

The angel doesn't need to say anything else, his name is enough. Heat burned through his entire body at the sound of his gravelly voice, breathing his name out like an entreaty. His arms lifted and he placed his hand against Castiel's cheek, caressing it softly before placing a light kiss on his forehead. It was all he could do at that moment, too choked up in the moment to act on his burning urges. Cas understood, or at least, he assumed he did, and pulled away momentarily. Dean wished he would smile, or at least have an inch of a happy emotion in his eyes. But there's only one emotion the angel seems to be feeling, and he can see it clear as day in those big blues.

"Dean. I'm sorry I took so long. I'm sorry you had to suffer because I was too slow to aid you. I disposed of them all. For you. The wrath of Heaven is not kind."

His voice cracked uncharacteristically, and Dean finally understood. He gripped the back of his angel's head and pulled him forward into a searing kiss, capturing his lips and holding for dear life, thinking the moment would disappear as quickly as it came. At first, Cas doesn't react; he simply accepted the kiss for what it was, eyes wide. Perhaps he thought he was undeserving, but Dean doesn't let him think as he leaned him against the hood of the car, his knee pressed firmly between his legs. The kiss was wild and fevered, as if he was unable to control himself. Quickly, Cas became untamed in his arms, his hands burying in Dean's hair and his lips smacking against his in a fight for more, small moans escaping his lips. When Dean pulled his lips away, it felt like the world was wrong, that pulling away from him was the worst thing he could do, and he licked his lips slowly, carefully, a smile on his face as he enjoyed the taste of his angel. Gone were the thoughts of him being a man, or an angel, or anything else foolish. He was just Cas, his beautiful best friend who would do whatever he could to help him. And in that moment, he wanted him more than breathing.

Once the tables turn, however, with Cas lying on top of him, kissing him relentlessly, Dean felt the sweat pooling, and he clenched awkwardly, tightening up uncomfortably against him. He broke the kiss in seconds, pushing him away none too gently, and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself down. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, and he stammered away from the angel slowly, burying into himself with a cry of anguish so pained, Erial would have been ecstatic. He gripped his head as memories swirled, and slid against the car, hitting the ground roughly. The pain shoots up instantly, garnering another cry of agony, which makes him flinch.

Castiel didn’t leave, but he approached Dean as he cried silently, hiding his face. Dean felt the angel fall beside him, and as his arms surrounded him in a hug, Dean shook and tried to get away instinctively, as if he expects something else from the ordeal. However, Cas simply pulled him to his chest and embraced him tightly, placing his head on his shoulder. He whispered words of encouragement and peace, trying to calm him down. Dean buried his face in the angel's chest, staining his coat with tears.  His voice broke through the sudden calm, broken and detached and coated with a twinge of denial.

"I’ll be fine. I’ll get through this. I’m Dean Winchester. This won’t break me. It won’t, Cas. It won’t.”

They stayed like that for a while, Dean crying into the angel’s chest, and Castiel keeping guard of his human: a veritable guardian angel, a protector. He didn’t dare to speak, simply held him tightly, providing him with the warmth that he so desperately needed. Dean lifted his head to stare into the most beautiful blue, unable to stop himself from muttering the words he knew were false.

“I’ll be fine… I’ll be fine.”


	4. Rage

Once Dean separated himself from Castiel, he hadn't sent him away, no matter how much he wanted to. They drove for hours without speaking, no destination in mind. Dean could tell the angel wanted to say something, to continue going on about the situation they found themselves in, yet the angel didn't attempt to break the silence. For that, Dean was glad. After his breakdown, he wasn’t quite ready for another chick-flick moment of crying on his shoulder. A plethora of emotions were swirling through his mind, from the worst of the torture, to the way the angel was starting to make him feel and think, and he was afraid that if he were to talk again, he would make a fool of himself.  He had already cried in his arms, practically fell apart in the comfort of his warmth, and the thought of being that weak was making his stomach churn. He was supposed to be strong, able to handle anything, and yet he had fallen apart so easily. It was pretty pathetic.

He had been through everything imaginable – he'd gone to Hell and back and lived through those thirty years on the rack, most of his family had died, including his brother at one point, not to mention the way he'd been brought up. And though all of that had damaged him, it hadn’t managed to break him, not quite like what he was experiencing now. He felt as if everything he suffered was finally coming to a head, crashing down on him because of one lousy couple of months being violated and ripped to shreds by a demon. The demon had been dreadful, and the things he had done to him would always be implanted in his mind, but the pain he was dealing with now wasn’t just from that. Everything was wearing him down, and he couldn’t handle it anymore. He had finally been torn, unable to cope with all of the many problems hitting him at once. The latest array of torture had taken more from him than he would ever care to admit – had done more to his psyche than anyone could dream. He was a different person and it disgusted him to the core.

The hours were grueling as they passed, but Dean couldn’t stop driving. He needed the solace his car could give him, at least for a little while. He stopped only once when he found a liquor store. Castiel had stared at him with what looked like disappointment, but he ignored the judgment he saw splattered across his face as he bought a few bottles. He wanted to escape from it all the only way he knew how, but even though he had his packages in tow, he didn't rush to get back and drink himself into oblivion. He drove and drove, taking in the sights around him, though he couldn’t really concentrate thanks to the angel beside him. He stole glances at Castiel constantly, wondering why he was driving with him. He thought he wanted to be alone, especially after he had made a fool of himself, but the truth remained that he needed the damned angel with him, wanted to be with him more during his time of strife. He hated himself for being dependent, but he couldn’t stand being in his own company.

He eventually headed for the sleazy motel with a look of disdain. Leaving the Impala, he carried his bags with a heavy heart. He didn't even look over at the angel, but he could feel his presence by his side as he entered his room. A bottle of cheap whiskey was immediately pulled out, and he didn't even bother with a glass, simply opened it and drank it straight, taking in as much as he could drink before the heat was too much. The warmth coursed down his throat and into his belly, and he closed his eyes for a second, taking the feeling in with surprising pleasure. He managed not to choke at the strong taste, knocking it back like a champion. Castiel was eyeing him, he could see it through his peripheral a moment later, and he found it insanely unnerving, but the alcohol was doing its job in making him feel just a tiny bit better – regardless of the deep stare.

Finally, after fidgeting for what seemed like hours under his gaze as he drank, he turned to stare at the angel with another gulp. Castiel took a step toward him slowly, while he stared with curiosity, watching him descend. The angel's face was contorted in what looked like anguish, and Dean momentarily felt responsible, as he usually did. And why shouldn’t he? It was because of him that the angel was around anyway, having been pulled out of Hell because he needed him. He was the one to sell his soul, to get caught by demons, it was his fault Castiel had to see him like this and take care of him, like he was a child. Everything that went wrong, no matter what it was, was on his shoulders. It was his fault that the angel had an ocean of sadness swirling through those eyes, and he hated himself desperately because of that.

He still didn't speak as Castiel grew closer, and when he wrapped his arms around him, he dropped his head into the crook of his angel's neck, breathing him in with a deep breath. He felt the angel's fingers grip the bottle and pull it from his hands, the feeling of being lost quickly taking over. He needed the liquid to get by, had to have it to survive the onslaught of emotions that bombarded him. The loss of the bottle was almost too much to bear.

Before he could take it back and pull away with a grimace, Castiel's lips touched his gently, his nose rubbing against his in a sweet, slow glide. Dean didn't pull away, simply stood there, the feeling overbearingly sweet. His hands rose and he ran his fingers through his angel's hair, pulling his head back gently. Castiel's lips parted in surprise, giving him the edge he needed to slide his tongue inside. The wet warmth was enough to drive him insane as he slid his tongue in and out slowly, imitating sex crudely and efficiently, drawing quiet moans out of his angel from the depth of his throat. He pulled at the hair in between his fingers, Castiel’s head falling backward even more, revealing the skin of his throat. Dean’s lips left the beautiful mouth in a rush before he licked against the angel’s pressure points. He was practically writhing against him now, louder moans filling the room, drawing Dean on. He sucked at his throat, marking him possessively, bright red sores developing in little time at all. Satisfied, he lifted his head and ravished his lips, mouthing him with all the force he could muster.

He did all of the work, savoring the taste, pushing Castiel backward until they were flush with the wall. Their lips never separated, Dean was too engulfed in the feeling that overrode his body, in the wet swish of tongue and the brush of teeth that threatened to break him apart. He didn't increase the pace, didn't bother with ripping off clothing, simply enjoyed the feel of his angel's body against his own, relished in the sweet flavor of his mouth, indulged in the feeling of the hard length of the angel’s very prominent erection rubbing against his leg. He ignored his own, thick and straining, paying too much attention to the wanton angel against him. He wanted him to feel pleasure for once, to take and take and leave him in the dust.

Dean dropped his arms slowly, gripping Castiel's hand and holding it for dear life as he pulled his mouth away with a whimper. They stood there for a few moments, gasping for breath, staring at each other with strong emotions sizzling between them. Dean took his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking it softly, staring all the while into the angel’s deep blues which were at half-mast. He could feel his angel's fingers intertwine with his own, and moments later, he was being pulled toward the bed gently. Castiel wasn’t necessarily taking control, simply leading him on, and Dean felt slightly grateful at the idea. He didn’t want to push. Still, he couldn’t help the sudden fear. He felt that familiar feeling of nausea rise from the pit of his belly, but Castiel placed his other hand on his cheek, drawing his gaze to the deep blue he remembered so well. His lips curled into a smile before he placed a soft kiss on his forehead, and Dean was lost as the angel laid down, bringing Dean with him. Castiel tucked him in beside his body, pulled his shoes off in a quick gesture, and kicked his own to the side of the room before pulling the blanket around them. Dean felt the angel's arms wrap around him tightly, encasing him in body heat and warmth. He dropped his head against his shoulder with a sigh, relishing in the comfort of Castiel's body.

"No one will ever hurt you again, Dean.”

Castiel’s deep voice was relaxing, causing Dean to fall deeper into the comfort he provided. He felt the angel’s leg drape over his own, pulling him closer and holding him for dear life. Dean could lie like this forever, he didn’t need to do anything else with the angel, the feeling was just too amazing to ruin. He did lean forward to kiss him on the lips one more time, a sweet, light touch that was filled with the words he couldn’t speak. He felt joyous snuggling with his angel, more happy than he had in a long time, the thoughts of darkness and violation forgotten. For the first time in years, he felt relaxed – able to just take a breather and forget everything that was happening in his life: the torture, the apocalypse, everything was pushed to the backburner for the moment, just so he could ease himself into a repose.

As he stared for a moment at the beautiful creature beside him, eyelashes falling downward, he realized how lucky he was to have him. Dean had never been interested in men before, but there was something different with Castiel. He was an angel, and he had sacrificed everything for him. They had developed a bond. At first, it had felt like a savior-saved type of situation. Now, however, being comforted by the angel, it felt different. He felt close, not like a brother like Sam, but like a lover. The thought should freak him out, regardless if he had his tongue down his throat moments ago, but it didn’t. He felt content. The angel in his arms would do anything for him. There would be no price too steep, he had proved that with his actions. Dean was sure he would do it all again – the bond between them couldn’t be broken, a kinship that united them in many ways. Castiel had already proved he would die for him, and because of that, Dean knew he would find no one else who cared as much as the angel did, other than his brother.

The entire ordeal was surreal: Dean had never thought of his friend in any romantic way, but all of a sudden, all he could do was think about Castiel and the way he soothed him, the way he had always been there for him through everything. The thoughts of torture were behind him, at least for the moment, swallowed whole by the surge of heat radiating from his angel's body. He felt cool lips brush against his head again, and for the first time in what seemed like years, he smiled, curling deeper into the angel's arms and closing his eyes. In moments, he slipped into sleep, his angel's name a prayer on his lips.

* * *

Dean thought he would be all right, at least with Castiel by his side. He assumed the angel was enough to comfort him and draw the negative thoughts away, believed nothing could bother him once he lay his head down upon him. He thought that siphoning off of his warmth and calmness would be enough to draw the darkness out of him and bring him the peace and quiet he needed to get through the days. The night before had started rough, with him feeling weak and depressed until he had exploded and broken apart, but it had ended in a way he hadn’t expected. They had kissed rather passionately, drawing on each other for support, and Dean thought it was enough to keep him grounded. He knew he had someone there for him, someone who would do anything for him, and that should have been enough. He thought he was finally free of the bleakness that was his life – that he would finally get over the pain and the agony, and would be able to live differently.

He had been wrong on all fronts.

He awoke with a start, his mind raced rapidly through images and snippets of his torture, seeing things again in a different perspective. He saw Erial’s incessant slicing of his flesh, could feel the thrust of blades, could smell the hellspawn all around him, could taste the blood that filled his mouth each night, overflowing from his lips and coating the stone floor. He could even hear the mocking words of Erial, insulting him as he was brought to his knees, forced to perform acts he would never have done in any other situation. His throat was suddenly dry and glassy, feeling too _full_ as memories clashed through him, feeling too real to simply be a dream. The warmth he had felt only hours before was replaced by a chill so deep, he felt it in his bones as if his very core were freezing. A switch was flipped almost immediately, his calmness broken, replaced with red.

Castiel was lying beside him, staring at him with a look of concern while he stood up and practically ran from the bed, rushing around the room as if he had no idea where he was. He didn’t know what was happening to him, he just felt as if he was being swallowed whole by a darkness that was clenching and cloying at his consciousness. The sun was bright, too bright, and burned his eyes until he was forced to close them. When he did, however, all he could see was Erial grinning at him, and it pissed him off. He didn’t sense Castiel anymore, didn’t see him. Only Erial existed, taunting, laughing, and he broke under the pressure, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Fuck you, you demon motherfucker!”

He screamed at the top of his lungs, gripping his head in a sudden jolt, wanting to rid himself of the images as best as he could. He slammed his head into the wall, once, twice, he stopped keeping track. Castiel ran toward him and gripped him tightly, arms wrapping around his middle and pulling him close in a sudden desire to make him stop. The angel didn’t think – simply acted, and Dean thrashed in his arms, screaming as loudly as he could, ripping himself away from the presence behind him with a twist as he sent his fist careening, slamming directly into his cheek. Castiel didn’t react to the punch, and yet Dean instantly regretted it. The pain in his hand was immediate, but he ignored it as he stared at the angel when he turned around. He snapped out of his reverie as his eyes widened. For a split second, he thought Erial was behind him, ready to take him again in a dominant display that would leave him pained and aching, but it had only been Castiel trying to help him. Regardless, he wasn’t too happy with the contact.

“Get away from me.”

The words came out more menacing than he intended, but he didn’t explain himself. He gripped his head suddenly, the images gone but the headache that had developed ripping him apart. He didn’t look at him, simply walked to the table in the kitchen area and grabbed the bottle he had started on the night before. Bringing it to his lips, he drank for what seemed like years, swallowing the liquid in quick gulps. It burned his throat, but he paid no mind, lost in the sudden assault of heat reaching down his gullet. All he could think about was stopping the onslaught of images and thoughts, and getting super wasted seemed like a good plan. Castiel tried to pull the bottle away with a concerned look, but Dean pushed him off as he downed the whiskey like a dying man in a desert.

“Dean…”

Dean glared at him through slit eyes, placing the bottle on the table with a slam before he shook his head rapidly. He pushed the angel against a wall, staring into his eyes with malice, even though only hours before they had lovingly embraced. He didn’t move to touch him, didn’t try to kiss him. He just stared, inches away from his body. Though the situation was dire, he could feel the angel’s erection against him, pulsing with want. That made him pause. He could sense how much Castiel wanted him, and no matter what he told himself, he knew it affected him strongly. He was angry, raging at the idea of being played with by Erial, of being made a fool of and tortured until he couldn’t speak, until the pain was too great to bear. He saw the beautiful angel, clear as day in front of him, but he wasn’t thinking as clearly as he should have been. His mind was swirling with rage and darkness, and he couldn’t control his actions even if he wanted to. With a sudden movement, he threw his arm forward, gripping tightly to the bulge at the front of the angel’s pants. Castiel sucked in a breath at the contact, as if he was too sensitive to ignore it, but he continued to stare at Dean with a knowing look.

“Is this for me, Cas?”

Dean growled darkly, his lips rubbing against the stubble on the angel’s jaw, tongue jutting out to lick at his pressure points. His hand didn’t move, only gripped him tighter. Tears filled the angel’s eyes, but they weren’t tears of sadness. No, he was incredibly sensitive, and the pain was probably too much for him to handle being so engorged with desire. Though he was an angel and could handle so much, this was probably a little too much, pain and pleasure intermingling until he was gasping for breath. Dean didn’t care, he simply pressed on, wanting to forget the way Erial stared at him, the laughter that rang in his ears, the flesh against flesh and slapping skin.

Dean’s tongue slid against Castiel’s jaw until he brought his lips to his, crashing against him while his body performed a slow grind that was making him crazed. His breath smelled of whiskey, a heady scent and a strong taste that was sure to draw the angel’s attention, but he didn’t care. His hand fell from his cock as he placed both palms face-down against the wall behind the angel, helping him stand upright as he rocked against him, lips slapping against his sloppily. Dean didn’t give him time to breathe, simply sucked at his tongue roughly, practically riding his leg in a desperate attempt to fill his mind with something other than darkness. Pleasure, not pain. Castiel managed to pull his lips away, and Dean noticed how swollen they were due to the onslaught against him. It was hot, enough to draw Dean on even more.

“Dean… stop.”

He definitely wasn’t having any of that.

Lifting his hands to Castiel’s hair, he pulled, just like before but harder, bringing his head back forcefully before taking his lips again. The angel was suddenly compliant, as if he couldn’t bear to put distance between them when they were so close, the feelings too amazing and the friction of rubbing against one another too much for him. The angel moaned into his mouth, inadvertently driving Dean on, making him need more and more. The ache was now pain, a beautiful pain that threatened to break him. With one of his hands buried deep in Castiel’s hair, Dean maneuvered the other until he was gripping tightly to the blue tie around the man’s neck. He wrapped it around his hand twice, keeping his body tight against him as he brutalized his mouth, bucking into him repeatedly until they were both gasping for breath.

Dean pulled away in an instant, and if the wide stare of Castiel was of any indication, he was disappointed. He felt the angel’s body twitch with desire beneath him, and Dean thrust his knee between his legs, drawing a loud gasp from him. Dean didn’t move in to kiss him again, but held his tie tightly before pulling him upward, leaning in against his ear. He licked the soft lobe until he could hear him practically purring with pleasure. His body was humming with want, and Dean took advantage of that desire.

“This what you want? You wanna fuck me? Bend me over and pump into me, over and over? You wanna fuck me, Cas?!”

He was practically shouting at him, and the mood was immediately tarnished by the pure anger etched across Dean’s face. He was angry, just a bit drunk, and aching. He continued to rub against him, but the angel had grown cold beneath him, pissing him off even more. Was he not good enough? It made sense, given how downright _filthy_ he was. Still, the damned angel didn’t care much about that last night. Now, all of a sudden when it was getting good, he was flaccid. It was enough to make him huff in rage. He threw the tie from his hand before walking away and grabbing for the bottle again, tipping the liquid into his mouth before draining it. The bottle should have lasted weeks, but he had managed to drink it in the span of a few hours. He had always been rather dependent on alcohol, but this was something else entirely. He was swaying, seeing double and falling over repeatedly, but the anger kept him awake, clawing, seething anger that made him want to throw something. He gripped the bottle tightly and pointed it at Castiel momentarily, glaring at him.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? Throw me around; fuck me until you’re sated. You want me to beg for it, to be your little bitch... It’s not gonna happen, you got that? No one will ever hurt me again!”

Dean watched the realization dawn on the angel’s face, and he took satisfaction in the fact that he had been able to shock him. He assumed Castiel knew everything about his torture, but apparently, there were some things even the all-knowing had no knowledge about, funny as that sounded. When the angel took a step toward him, Dean dropped the bottle to the ground with a loud thud, stepping back a bit. Dean wasn’t even seeing Castiel at this point – he wasn’t sure he truly had been moments ago, not really. He could see Erial, the bastard demon, grinning at him. His voice was grating against his skull, the laughter breaking through, and he whimpered before heading toward the door in a rush of speed. Castiel was too quick for him, however, appearing in front of the door, staring him down.

“Dean, you have to calm down. He’s not here, he can’t do anything to you! Do you understand? I’m here for you. I’ll always protect you. No one will ever harm you again. No demons, no creatures, nothing will touch you as long as I breathe!”

Dean was too far gone for the words to sink in. He glared at him before his fist went flying again, wanting to inflict the same type of pain that had been thrust upon him. The angel caught his hand and held it gently, stopping the punch but angering Dean to the point where he was flailing to get away, curses streaming from his lips. Castiel didn’t let go, he pulled Dean close, this time making sure he wasn’t flush against his backside. He held him by the back of his head. Dean flailed around, trying to get away, but eventually, he calmed down, staring into Castiel’s eyes, recognition obvious. Tears streamed down his cheeks moments later. He was crying more often than ever after Erial, weakness spreading through his body and making him a shell of the man he’d once been.

“Cas… just go. I can’t do this anymore. If you stay, I’m only going to hurt you. Just leave me alone,” Dean choked the words out, trying his best to see through the red that was clouding his vision, “I can’t hurt you, Cas. I can’t do it. I can’t control what I see.”

“I won’t leave you like this.” Castiel promised, gripping him gently. He looked on the verge of tears himself.

Castiel had a strong will, but Dean wasn’t going to let him stay around any longer and play victim to his violent outbursts. He was drunk as ever, but there was enough sobriety in him to realize that if he stayed in the angel’s presence any longer, something was going to happen that they wouldn’t be able to walk away from. He didn’t deserve the rollercoaster ride of Dean’s current emotions. Before he exploded and actually managed to hurt him physically, something that would take quite a lot of effort, he knew he had to mentally break him to get rid of him. Staring directly into the angel’s eyes, he shook his head vehemently.

“I don’t fucking need you, Cas. I don’t want you here, and I most certainly can’t stand looking at you right now. So if you don’t fucking leave, I’m going to make you leave. Understand? Get out and don’t look back. You’re damn right no one will ever harm me again, I won’t fucking _let_ them! It’s your damn fault I’m like this! You took too long to save me, both times, and look what happened because of it? I’m destroyed, and it’s all thanks to you!”

He turned his back to him then, but not after catching a glimpse of his face. He looked sad and rejected, and he knew this would work. In moments, he heard the beat of wings as Castiel disappeared without another word. He knew he hurt him, but he was sure he’d be back, as persistent as ever, regardless of the pain that had lingered in his eyes before he’d left. Dean needed to calm down before he ended up making the angel disappear forever, and he couldn’t do that with him in the room. Though he was angry and broken, he still felt attached to Castiel, and if he could keep him away for a while, he would do whatever he could to relax. Though he had hurt him emotionally, a desperate plea to be left alone, he needed him on some level. Right now, however, he didn’t deserve the help. Dean shuffled his feet until he was grabbing for another bottle of whiskey, knocking it back with a grimace. If pleasure wasn’t enough to get rid of the thoughts, he would consume as much alcohol as humanly possible until he was either passed out or too fucked up to care. He was already drunker than he’d ever been, but still capable of speech and movement. He wanted to stumble, wanted to black out and keep the thoughts away.

Castiel didn’t need to see him like that.

* * *

 

Once Cas left, Dean’s mood became more sour than he had anticipated. He continued to drink, but no matter how many liters he consumed, the heat wasn’t enough to penetrate his mind and put him at ease. He was twitching uncontrollably after an hour, screaming at himself and shaking back and forth in two, and by the third hour he was destroying the motel room, smashing the television against the floor and knocking everything over into a pile of shattered pieces. He had even pulled down the ceiling fan and sent the pieces of it scattering against the wall. By the fourth hour, he had destroyed the room and lay gasping on the bed, bleeding and broken, staring at the cell phone in his hand. He could hardly see the screen, too drunk to comprehend, but he managed to use the speed dial his brother had smartly coordinated into it, calling him, needing someone to talk to considering nothing else was helping.

He was feeling dark, but now, guilt was surfacing as well. Apparently, no matter how much he drank, he still couldn’t stifle the god damned thoughts that penetrated his mind. He wanted to bring Castiel back, wanted to tell him how sorry he was for what he had done and said, hating himself for the actions and wanting to apologize for being a complete fuckup. However, he knew he couldn’t. The next best step was to call his brother. It rang for what seemed like years to Dean, and he sat up with widened eyes. Glass was strewn all around the room, broken like his sanity. He wasn’t wearing any shoes or socks, so his feet were bleeding from stepping on the floor. He was a mess, the room ripped apart, and he was to blame. On some primal level, he knew he was at fault for pretty much everything, knew that whatever happening was because of him, but he didn’t try to amend his mistakes. He sat there, waiting for the ringing to end. A voice broke through the silence from the phone, Sam, and he felt a tiny semblance of relief. He couldn’t comprehend what he was saying, but he listen to his voice, taking comfort.

“Hey Dean. Just finishing up over here, apparently our culprit is a werewolf. Going after it at nightfall again – should be able to stop it and get back soon. How’re you feeling?”

Dean didn’t speak, simply closed his eyes and listened to his brother’s voice. Sam had always been the voice of reason, even though he had gone through a stint with demon blood not too long ago. Sam had helped him through the months before he was dragged to Hell, and he tried to keep him safe from the angels when he learned about being Satan’s vessel, by keeping himself away and separating them. ‘Course, that hadn’t been the best plan, especially after Dean had ended up in the future and saw what happened if they kept their distance, but Sam didn’t know. He had only one thought in mind, keeping him safe, and he commended him for it.

That was all before the newest onslaught of torture, and now, Dean knew they couldn’t be away from each other for too long. Sam had only been gone about a day, and he had already ended up trashing the motel room, getting himself fucked up beyond comprehension, and had hurt Castiel on some deep level he couldn’t fathom.  This latest turn of events proved he was a danger to himself and others without the steady influence of his brother. Now? Now he just needed the comfort of his brother’s voice, keeping him sane, wanted to fall apart in a drunken stupor – wanted to tell someone about everything that was bothering him, no matter what happened, no matter how much he would regret it when he was sober.

“Sammy, shit Sammy, I hurt Cas. I hurt him so bad. I told him it’s his fault, all of it. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me. I don’t know what I’ll do without him. He’s always there, always watching and helping us. I can’t live without him, and I fucking spit on his kindness like the piece of shit I really am.”

He didn’t even realize how drunk he sounded, words falling over each other and voice slurred to hell. His brother was silent, and because of that, he decided to continue on. Dean knew Sam wasn’t used to him talking about himself in such a manner, hell, he never went too deeply into personal matters with anyone. Then again, he usually could control how much he drank, never getting too smashed. Today, he was too drunk to care about the consequences of his actions, too fucked up to even think about what telling him of everything he had done and experienced would do to their relationship. He just wanted to let it go, and the words spilled from him then, expelled in a quick way that was sure to confuse.

“That torture, man. That torture was so fucked up. I lived through all those years in Hell, shit, that was no picnic. But this, man? This was worse. Alastair was a fucking cupcake compared to this motherfucking demon. He broke me in places I didn’t think I could be broken. Then every night, just like in Hell, he healed me. Somehow, I don’t know. He cut me open, ripped off limbs, hell, I’m sure I died a few times. But he kept going. Over and over. Every fucking day. And he had a mouth. Oh, man, he gave Alastair a run for his money. Every second, he wouldn’t shut up. It was his goal to break me, to get a rouse out of me. He wanted me to cry and scream. Hell, Sammy, sometimes I did, sometimes I couldn’t stand it and I fell apart.

“Others though? I stared that motherfucker right in the eyes and laughed in his face. I remembered Hell, every day, and now it’s all I can think about. I’m going crazy over here, man. And Cas. Jesus Christ, Cas. All he wants to do is help me. And I pushed him away, told him to go, and probably made him leave forever. What the hell will I do without my angel? My fucking angel, man. He pulls me out of Hell, saves me from the demons, and then I tell him it’s his fault? What’s wrong with me, Sammy? How will he ever forgive me?”

Dean was breathing hard by the time he finished speaking, his fists clenched against the blanket he was sitting on, and his knuckles white with pressure. He didn’t say anything else, simply gathered his bearings. He was beginning to feel sick thanks to all of the alcohol and the lack of food, and while Sam processed the information he fed him, he jumped from the bed and ran to the bathroom in a rush, puking his guts out over the toilet bowl for a good ten minutes. He could hear Sam shouting for him, his name breaking the silence. Sam shouted over and over, and Dean stood up from his place on the floor and crawled toward the bed, trying to avoid glass but really unsuccessful. His head was swimming, he was dizzy and felt like he could pass out at any moment. He lifted the phone with shaking hands.

“Dean? Dean! Where the hell did you go? Dean!”

Sam was screaming now, trying to get his attention, and he brought the phone to his ear with a grimace.

“What do I do, Sam? What the fuck could I ever do to make this right?”

He could hear Sam’s breathing over the phone, and he listened for a moment, taking solace in the fact that his brother was safe and fine, given the situation. He wanted to be there for him, hell, Sam was the one who had Lucifer breathing down his neck, but some things took too long to get over. Dean ran his hands through his hair with an exasperated sigh.

“Look, Dean… I know you went through a lot, man. But you have to pull through. We can survive this. I’m coming back as soon as I gank this werewolf, and we’ll talk about it in depth. But look, man. You gotta call Cas, you gotta apologize. He’ll come back, he always does. He can help you while I’m gone. You need him, Dean. You need him.”

Dean heard his brother’s voice falter, perhaps he was crying over how much of a basket case he had quickly become, which made sense. In a way, he was responsible for the life Sam was now leading. If it hadn’t been for him, the apocalypse wouldn’t have started in the first place. If he hadn’t died and gone to Hell thanks to Lilith, Sam wouldn’t have started drinking demon blood to get revenge. Dean felt his face get hot at the thought, his anger returning immediately. He clenched the phone until it creaked beneath his tight grasp.

“It’s all my fault, Sammy. Everything. I’m fucked up. Did I tell you how the demon used me? Made me his little bitch all over that prison. Who the fuck am I kidding, man? I’m damaged goods.”

The phone broke in his palm, smashed to pieces in his grasp, and he let out a rage filled howl so fierce, he was sure the neighbors would call the police. He threw the remaining pieces of the phone at the wall, blood dripping onto the sheets in flowing droplets. Standing up, he ran his dry hand through his hair, searching for another bottle of whiskey. He managed to avoid glass this time, knowing if he kept cutting himself he would die of blood loss, and though that would take care of the pain pretty well, he wasn’t ready for that yet. Once he found a bottle, he started to drink like a starving baby, not caring what happened afterward. He drank and drank, not finishing the bottle because he couldn’t lift it anymore. His eyes were crazed, and after a while, he started to sway, the drunken feeling finally hitting fever pitch. He fell forward with a whine, hitting the mattress harshly, whispering words to the only one who could save him.

“Even though I’m a piece of shit, even though I’m not worthy of you... help me, Cas. Please.”

With those last words, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he passed out.


	5. Bargain

Dean twisted and turned in his sleep, unable to stay in one place. He dreamed for what seemed like an endless time frame, jumbled thoughts, memories, and ideas swirling together rapidly. First, he had dreamed of Hell and what transpired. He could see Alastair ripping him apart, hanging him upside down and enjoying himself as he sliced and carved into his flesh, making his soul sing out in agony. The torture was indeed horrible, testament to Alastair’s many years as master of torture, and yet, that wasn’t the worst part about his visit to Hell. Those thirty years were surely horrible, but the ten afterward were the worst set of memories he had.

He’d killed, maimed, and ripped guilty souls to shreds without a second thought. In those ten years, he had been no better than Alastair or Erial, taking his pain out on others, basking in the screams of souls. Each time, Alastair had congratulated him, told him he was the best pupil he could ever ask for, and Dean had nodded and accepted the congratulatory words, swallowed them with a grain of salt. The dream helped remind him of who he was, what he had done, and why he was suffering now. He deserved everything that came to him and more, all because of the actions he had taken downstairs. However, though Hell was still a fresh memory in his mind, the second dream hit much closer to home. It was about Erial, another torture session he had survived, complete with taunts and embarrassment. It was a conglomeration of everything he had suffered, from the endless cuts, the numerous burns, and the laughing, grinning, disgusting face of the demon as he took his pleasure where he could get it. Still, the two dreams were nothing compared to the latest. It was completely different. This dream had nothing to do with the torture, rape, beatings or mutilation. Instead, he dreamed something even worse.

He dreamed of Castiel.

* * *

 _He cried and cried, calling to the only person who could help him through the troubled times. Castiel, always_ Cas _, there was no one else. The angel had his back to him now, looking away, perhaps because he was unable to bear the sight of him so battered and broken. Dean wanted to grab him and hold on for dear life, wanted more than anything to listen to his deep voice telling him it would all be okay; he would survive, that he could get through everything that was thrown at him and more._

_But Cas didn't say a word._

_He turned around to stare, eyes bright and piercing, judging him. Dean felt hurt by that look, and turned to gaze at a wall, trying to look at anything but the angel who wanted nothing to do with him. They were close, Castiel seated on the edge of his bed and Dean lying inches away, bloody and partially dressed. He knew he looked terrible, on the verge of another breakdown or worse, but this time, he felt it down to his marrow._

_Dean motioned to move away from him, knowing he needed some space before things really got out of hand, but a palm on his chest rendered him immobile. He looked toward the angel who was still staring. This time, however, his face contorted into a look of pure shame. Dean felt his insides clench tightly and his eyes grow wet. It didn't take much for Dean to burst into tears after everything he’d been through. At the slightest provocation, his eyes filled to the brim, and he hated himself for it. He couldn't look away from Cas now, even if he was dripping all over the place. The angel didn't say a word, and it was driving him insane to sit there and watch him judge him silently._

_“Cas...”_

_There was no response, no indication that the angel was even listening. His hand didn't shift from his chest, was flush against him, power radiating from the touch. Normally, he would feel warmth seeping from that hand, almost hot enough to burn him in its intensity. Now, he only felt cold, icy cold, made worse by the expression of bottomless anguish on the angel’s face. After a while, he didn’t move or make a sound, and his visage fell, looking all the more like the angel he remembered. Castiel was now staring at him emotionlessly, giving him pause, frightening him. He hadn't looked at him like that since they'd first met, and it was too much. Dean pushed away in the opposite direction, jumping to his feet. No matter how injured he was, he needed to get away as fast as possible. Castiel stood seconds later, watching him, predatory. He walked closer, closer, until he was inches away from Dean's face, staring into his eyes dangerously._

_“Dean Winchester. Broken and beaten. You disrespect me, spit in my face when I have done nothing but help you. I pulled you from damnation, ripped you from the arms of countless demons, and this is how you repay me? Throwing me to the wayside, attacking me, using me. Who do you think you are? I’ve dealt with your filth, saved you from agony, from abuse, and you do this to me. I am an angel. I tolerate you because I must, you pathetic creature.”_

_Dean was taken aback by the words spilling through the mouth of his best friend. His face was still blank, as if he didn't care how much he was hurting him. Though Dean didn't want to admit it, he was speaking the truth, and that fact hurt him more than anything. He looked away until Castiel grabbed his jaw, none too gently, and turned his head to look at him. Dean didn't try to hold the tears back anymore, they flowed freely, embarrassingly. He assumed the angel would always be there for him, would do anything for him, would understand what he had been through, but here he was, taking his anger out on him, pushing him away and making him understand just how worthless, how useless, how_ disgusting _, he truly was. There was no understanding in that gaze, just a simple acceptance, as if the angel was giving up, as if he didn’t care any longer. Castiel knew what he was and what he'd been through, and the look in his eyes told him he was starting to believe there was nothing he could do about it._

_“I have done so much to protect you, Dean. I have tried and tried, but there's just no saving you. You're stuck with your demons.”_

_Cas dropped his arms immediately and turned his back. Dean stared, unable to comprehend for a moment, until it was too late. He was walking away, leaving him to his own devices, leaving him to rot in a cesspool of self-loathing and self-destruction. The only person who could help, the only one who had the power to make him better, to help him improve, was leaving him. He felt his heart break in his chest as he stepped forward, raising his arm and reaching out. He cried and cried, needing the angel with his entire being, screaming for his return._

_“_ Castiel _, don't leave me. Please, don't leave me. I’ll do anything. Come back. Please...”_

 

* * *

 

There wasn’t much to be said about the mind-splitting hangover that was plaguing Dean when he awoke with a jolt, except that he had never felt anything quite like it before. It wasn’t his first rodeo, drinking and drinking until he couldn’t see straight, but he had never left himself so injured and broken while doing it. There were bloodstains all over the sheets, seeping into the mattress, and dried blood caked his skin. When he took a look at the floor, he saw the stains immediately, standing out against the pale carpet, not to mention the glass strewn from every side of the room. He sat up slowly, groaning in agony. He felt wetness on his cheeks and lifted a hand, touching his cheek softly. There were fresh tears there, as if he had been crying only moments ago. He remembered the dream, remembered screaming for Castiel and crying for the angel until he was hoarse. Clearing his throat, he realized he had been screaming in the real world as well.

He stood up quickly which made him sway. He was definitely still a little drunk from the night before, given the amount of alcohol he imbibed. After the night, he was surprised he had survived after that stupidity, and for a split second, he wished he hadn’t made it. If he had died, things would be much simpler. He wouldn’t have to deal with losing Cas, deal with the torturous thoughts that ate away at him, nothing would bother him. But he was never one for dying without a reason – only when he had to for a cause.

As he walked toward the bathroom, his body aching everywhere, he only had thoughts for the one he lost. His angel. Castiel. He could see him when he closed his eyes, but couldn’t sense his presence anywhere. He probably wasn’t coming back, and it was just as well. He understood why he was pissed off with him, why he was sad, why he had disappeared. He’d hurt him, and though it had been necessary, Dean couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt. However, if Castiel had stayed any longer… Dean wasn’t sure what he would have done, so on one level he felt as if he’d done the right thing. Now, despite having practically thrown him out of his life, he was desperate for the angel’s return. In fact, he never needed anything more.

“I’ll do anything to have you back. Anything. Please, Cas. I know you can hear me. I’m sorry for what I said, what I did. I didn’t mean any of it. It’s not your fault for what happened to me. You saved me, you always do, you’ll never be at fault, ever. Let me prove it to you. I will give you everything. I will do anything, _Castiel_.”

He knew the words flying out of his mouth were incredibly out of character, but he couldn’t contain the desire to see the angel at the moment. He was desperate, and it wasn’t like he never begged before. Dean stood on wobbly legs before reaching for his boots at the side of the bed, pulling them on in mere seconds. He just needed to get to the bathroom, clean himself up, and there was no way he could walk through the glass thrown all over the floor without slicing his feet to shit again. Standing, he walked around the room, cleaning up the mess he made in a raging fit. He had gone through two bottles of whiskey, and another that was mostly half-full. It was a miracle that he lived through the night after drinking so much, but he didn’t dwell on that too long as he threw trash and broken furniture away. His head was pounding, but he ignored the pain as he continued on with his work. In twenty minutes, he was throwing numerous trash bags outside, and in an hour, the entire room was clean aside the glass that littered the floor. He felt shaky and off-balance, but he would do anything to make Castiel believe he was fine.

He knew the angel was watching – he always was, no matter the situation. He was probably sitting on a cloud somewhere, staring down, wondering why he hurt him. Tears dripped from his eyes again, but he ignored them as he looked for a broom. Once he found one, hidden in a closet, he tried to clean the glass as accurately as possible. There would always be glass on the floor, tiny, hidden pieces that he managed to miss, so he would need to walk around in shoes until they left the motel.

Cautiously he headed for the bathroom, avoiding the glass as best as he could. He closed the door behind him, just in case Sam came back, and rushed to start the water for a shower. Glancing down, he noticed he was coated in dried blood, probably from when he trashed the room. He couldn’t exactly remember what he had done, aside from the words he had yelled at Castiel, and for that he was glad. He didn’t need even more guilt to fuck with him, he was already drowning in it. He pulled the boots off in a tired huff, placing them beside the toilet as he rushed to rip his clothing away. The shirt was tattered from whatever the hell he managed to get into, and the bands were covered in blood from his waist to his feet, so he threw them out with a grimace. While he undressed, he stared at the ceiling, just in case the angel was watching.

When he jumped into the shower, the hot water was a welcome distraction from his thoughts. He stood under the spray for a while, not sure how many minutes passed. Washing himself proved to be difficult thanks to his weakness and the lasting injuries from the night before, but even so, he completed the task with numerous grunts and groans of pain. He was gasping by the end, out of breath and tired from exertion, but he didn’t make an effort to leave the shower. Blood swirled in the drain, drawing his thoughts to it, wondering how much longer he could get away with hurting himself before he ended up going beyond the pale. He sighed, his gaze leaving the drain to stare forward at the tile. The water was still warm, and though he usually hurried to leave, he felt as though he had an audience, and stayed rooted to the floor.

“Cas, come down here with me. Don’t let me be alone.”

He stared, green eyes swirling with determination, though he was feeling somewhat empty without his angel by his side. He wasn’t thinking about any torture, and for the first time, he couldn’t hear Erial laughing in his subconscious. All he could think about was Castiel. He could hear his voice, could feel his heat, and he missed him more than anything. Lifting an arm, he held his hand upward, hoping he would appear dramatically above him. Cas always knew how to make an entrance, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. But when there was no flutter of wings, no words of introduction, he dropped his arms knowingly. He didn’t let it deter him, however. Perhaps there could be a way to get him to return, Dean thought with a small grin. He closed his eyes to the rush of water hitting his face and grabbed the cheap bar of soap he’d used to wash himself. If apologizing constantly or begging him wasn’t enough to get him down, there had to be another way. Lathering his hands, he opened his eyes slowly and continued to stare beyond the ceiling, wishing he could see the angel at least once while he put on his show.

“Cas, I wasn’t kidding when I said I would do anything to get you down here. I need you. So I do this for you.”

His eyes fell closed as his entire body shuddered, foamy hands sliding down his chest with a purpose. They trickled down past his stomach, hovering above his rigid cock before his eyes blinked open and he lifted his head hastily. He stared upward yet again, challenging the angel to appear before his eyes. Gripping himself with both hands, a quiet groan escaped his lips as he covered his cock in lather. Placing his left hand on the wall, he kept his grip tight with the other, beginning to pump slowly from the base to the tip, the sudden pleasure making his legs wobble. His thumb slid over the tip, repeatedly shifting back and forth, back and forth, a wonderful amount of pressure and a dizzying bit of friction that had his entire body shaking.

In his mind’s eye he saw bright blue eyes, piercing and watching, and it made him moan to the heavens. He knew Castiel could see him, and so he gave him a show, owing him for everything he had done and more. He didn’t know why he was capable of touching himself like he was, didn’t know what drove him, didn’t know why his thoughts were completely saved from Erial and torture and the like. All he knew was that he wanted the angel’s touch, his presence, his warmth surrounded him. His eyes closed slowly, water twinkling his eyelashes. Nothing negative managed to break through, nothing at all that would break his concentration; instead, he groaned out Castiel’s name as his hand rose and fell, his cock wet and hot, pulsating against his touch. He sped up, faster and faster, a rapid pace that left him breathless and begging.

“Cas! Cas, Cas, fuck, Cas. CAS!”

He shouted his name as he continuously worked his cock, gripping the head with a whine, trying to hold himself off for just a little while – Castiel still wasn’t nearby, though he could feel his eyes glued to him, watching him touch himself. The hand-print scar on his shoulder burned, causing his pleasure to skyrocket. He bit into his bottom lip to stifle his desire to scream. The pressure was becoming too much to handle – a pulse in the back of his head, growing stronger and stronger as he thrust his fist around himself.

“C-cas... I-I can’t… Fuck!”

Dean groaned as a jet of white exploded from his cock, squirting against the wall of the shower. He kept pumping, much slower, milking himself until there was nothing left, until he fell limp and gasped for breath. The water was now icy cold, but he didn’t rush to leave the stall. He stood in the center, staring, willing his angel to appear. After a few moments, he sighed, and then cleaned the wall before stepping over the threshold and grabbing a towel. His arms were shaking, which was to be expected after the entire ordeal.

For a moment, he stared at the ceiling as he dried himself. Dropping the towel, he picked it up and draped it over the sink before he stood still in all his naked glory. He stood there for a few moments, eyeing the ceiling with a raised eyebrow before he stumbled out of the bathroom. Castiel hadn’t come to him, but Dean had sensed his presence, the burning sensation of his scar satisfying him more than he could dream. He tried to be careful as he walked through the room, knowing he had managed to miss some of the glass from before. He was by the side of the bed in moments, victorious in his endeavor to keep himself from slicing open his wounds, and he started searching his bag for clothes. The door to the motel room was locked, so he didn’t feel as uncomfortable walking around naked as he should have. Still, the prospect of the angel popping up while he was unclothed was satisfying. For a moment, he felt the presence again, and he turned fully, staring at the corner of the room.

“If you’re invisible, show yourself, Cas. I won’t hurt you again. There are plenty of things I could do to you… hurting you is not one of them.”

For a moment, he thought he was imagining the feeling of being watched. He was about to cry out for the angel, pray to him until his voice was hoarse, but he suddenly had no reason to. That flutter of wings made his heart leap out of his chest, and he turned around toward his bed. Castiel stood in front of him, eyeing him with lustful eyes, glancing down at his naked body until another expression crossed his face. He looked like he was in pain, and Dean knew exactly how to help with that. Nothing was said as he grabbed a handful of the angel’s blue tie and pulled him close, bringing his lips flush against his own with a heat that was scorching. At first, Castiel didn’t move, as if he was scared of Dean’s reaction. But he slowly eased into the kiss and his eyes fell closed. A moan escaped his lips as Dean’s tongue punctured through, sliding sensually against his own and tasting him.

The angel’s hands rose to fall onto his hips, and Dean jutted forward at the contact. His hands were cold against his pale flesh, drawing him to push the angel backward until he was tumbling onto the bed.  The sheets were still bloodied and crumpled, but Dean wasn’t paying attention as he pushed his hips into the angel with a groan. Though so soon after his shower, he was finding himself stirring only slightly, simply from kissing his angel, and was surprised considering that had never happened before. He assumed the burn of his shoulder had something to do with it, the pleasure and pain intermingling into a fever pitch.

Dean pulled away slowly with a loud sound of suction, a long line of spit dangling between him and Castiel’s mouth. His tongue slid against the angel’s lips seductively before taking his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking delicately. Castiel was staring at him now, and Dean couldn’t help but look back – green and blue gazing longingly at one another. He sucked his lip gently as his hands worked on their own accord, pulling Castiel’s shirt from his pants until his hands were smooth against skin.

Though the angel’s hands were cold, his chest was hot, burning up, and the feeling was overwhelming as he pulled the angel’s shirt open, buttons flying in every direction until they were chest to chest. Dean placed wet kisses along the angel’s jaw, drawing a quiet groan from him. Dean began moving downward lasciviously, sliding his tongue against his throat, sucking on his Adam’s apple until Castiel was rocking against him violently. He left several red marks on his body, taking care to make sure everyone knew who left them. Dean unraveled his tie with shaking fingers, sliding it off and tossing it to the floor without a second thought. He pulled his lips from skin, immediately missing the salty taste of his angel, and gripped his jaw softly, pulling his lips forward into a chaste kiss, so unlike the ravishment. There was no tongue involved, just a simple press of lips on lips, and Dean pushed away gently.

“Cas… I’m sorry for everything I did to you. I’m sorry for what I said, sorry for how I’ve been treating you these last few days. I’ve been through so much, but I always forget about everything else. You’ve sacrificed so fucking much. For me, for Sam. Hell, for the world.”

Placing another kiss on his lips, he ran his fingers through the angel’s hair until it was splayed in all directions. His cock jerked, fully erect by this point, at the sight. Castiel’s lips were pink and ravished from the hard kisses, and he looked positively frazzled as he stared at him, blue eyes wider than he’d ever seen them. Dean felt the angel’s length against his leg, ramrod stiff and aching with desire, and it drove him to place steaming kisses against his clavicle, leaving wet imprints behind. Castiel placed his hands on Dean’s back, spreading his fingers and digging his nails deep into his flesh. The jolt of pleasure-pain made Dean cry out, thrusting his cock closer until they were only kept apart by the thin layer of Castiel’s slacks.

Cas was gasping at the contact, and the sound made Dean moan as he slammed their lips together in a jumble of teeth and tongue. He felt his control slipping as he pushed the overcoat from his angel’s shoulders, practically tearing his shirt off and throwing it across the room. Dean took one look into his angel’s eyes and he was lost: they were glazed over and at half mast, as if the pleasure was taking him over, making him a slave to it. Dean felt the angel’s hands grip his hips and pull him closer, sliding against his cock with a lack of control.

“C-cas… fuck, wait. Slow down.”

Castiel suddenly stopped moving against him, causing Dean to thrust forward with a groan. He moved off of the angel until he was sitting beside him on his knees. Castiel was lying on his coat, staring up at him with mysterious eyes, and that gaze was enough to make him moan and approach. He gripped at the angel’s belt and pulled it loose, letting it join the tie and shirt that were thrown heedlessly to the floor. His fingers dug into the waistline of his pants until he pulled them loose; bringing the boxers he was wearing down with them in one fell swoop. His pants gathered at his ankles, but once the prize was visible, Dean didn’t pay much attention to the garments constricting his movement. The sight of the angel’s cock gave him pause, red, swelling and oozing pre-come, just begging for release.

“Holy… fuck.”

The angel looked at him with what he assumed was amusement, his cheeks flushed and his body heat over the top. Dean felt small under that gaze, which made sense, given Castiel’s parentage. He felt desire roll into his gut at the prospect of doing the deed with an honest to God angel again, but he felt something stronger swirl at the idea that it was Castiel, _his_ angel, his salvation. He gaped when a smile covered Castiel’s face, reaching his eyes and damning Dean for the rest of his life.

“Well, yes, Dean. It is a holy… fuck.”

The way the curse rolled off the angel’s tongue made him feel both blasphemous and rapturous, and Dean’s cock trembled in desire. He stared at him for what seemed like ages before he climbed up his body, taking his lips in a possessive kiss. It started slow and sensual, shifting into a duel for control that left them both gasping for air moments later. Dean’s arm slid down the angel’s chest until his hand was flush against his shaft. He squeezed Castiel into his palm until he cried against his lips, bucking underneath him uncontrollably. Dean bit into one of the angel’s lips, drawing only a tiny bit of blood, and the pain made him flail.

“Dean…” Castiel’s voice was strained as he moaned his name. “Please.”

“I won’t let you suffer, my angel.”

Dean slithered down his angel’s body, grabbing his hips and pulling him closer. Castiel held his breath as he glanced down through piercing eyes, trying to understand what was happening. Though he was old, so old, he was still inexperienced, and that thought alone made Dean happy as a schoolgirl. With a glint in his eye, Dean smiled upward, and he watched as the angel dropped his head back onto his coat, groaning in agony. Leaning forward, Dean’s tongue snaked out of his mouth, sliding against the tip of the angel’s cock, tasting salt and a flavor that was entirely Castiel’s. He heard the moan of pleasure erupt from him, not to mention his own groan of pleasure as he lapped at him like a popsicle, taking care not to suck him. Instead, he wanted to savor the flavor. His tongue licked from the base of his cock to the tip, slowly, and he had to grip at Castiel’s hips just to keep him from flying upward and away.

“Dean… what are y—Dean!”

The scream that pierced through the silence led Dean on as he lowered his lips upon the angel’s engorged shaft, taking him in deeper and deeper until he felt the head at the back of his throat. Dean didn’t exactly know how to give blowjobs, but had received many in his life, so he was only doing what he knew he liked done to himself.  He made a sound, a guttural grunt that vibrated around the angel, making him buck into his mouth even deeper. The sudden push into his throat made him choke only slightly, but he gained control and slid upward with a pop, glancing upward at Cas, who was groaning louder, looking like he was on the verge of exploding.

“This is for you, Cas. You stay with me and I’ll give you what you need.”

He wanted to wait, to hear what the angel would say in return, but it would be tortuous to wait any longer, for the both of them. The angel was bucking violently, unable to speak aside from the groans that continuously escaped his lips. Dean grinned as he gripped the base of his cock, pulling him into his mouth with a wet slurp. He bounced rapidly, enjoying the idea that he was the one who was giving the pleasure. He, Dean Winchester, was giving as good as he got, was able to make an angel moan and groan and flail in pleasure, until he was seeing stars. He was sure Castiel would praise him if he could, crying out about how he was perfect, how he was righteous and beautiful, and the idea was enough to make him hard as a rock.

He sucked him violently, lips stretched along the thick length, cheeks hollowed, bringing him to the precipice of pleasure. It was all he could do for his angel, to make him feel wanted, needed, to let him know just how much Dean appreciated him. As he bopped repeatedly, taking him in to wet heat over and over, it didn’t take very long for Cas to reach his breaking point. A hot stream pooled in his mouth and exploded down his throat. He swallowed it down, knowing that’s how he would want it, and glanced up with a naughty smile at the angel who was breathing hard. The taste was something new entirely, but not unpleasant, and he licked his lips while climbing up his body, the look on his face pure joy. Dean pulled his lips to his softly, tasting him, giving him part of his own essence in return.

His cock was throbbing, and he gripped it tightly, thinking to relieve himself while his angel recovered. However, Castiel glanced at him with a knowing frown before he slapped his hand away, staring directly into his eyes with a look so passionate, he thought he would come just from the stare. Dean didn’t feel the familiar unease creep up his spinal cord, and for that, he was glad. Castiel pushed him back onto his coat as he kneeled on the bed, a hand on his chest. Dean watched him, the sight of his angel sated making him satisfied.

When Castiel’s hand circled around his swollen cock, he gasped in surprise. He felt his cold hand squeezing firmly, and Dean couldn’t believe the pleasure that was blinding him now. The soft touch was inexperienced and unsure, but it was amazing. His angel stared at him with wide eyes, not sure what he was doing, and Dean helped him along, putting his own hand around the angel’s and pumping, slowly at first until the pace built up into a brisk rush. He dropped his hand as he fell backward, his hips acting on their own accord as they jutted forward. Castiel took this as a sign that he was doing good, and he smiled, actually smiled, turning to look at Dean as he jerked him off. Just as he felt himself slipping, eyes closing at the pleasure, warmth surrounded him. His eyes slammed open and he tried his best to glance down, seeing the angel’s beautiful, pink lips envelop his cock. The sight was enough to make him moan his name, eyes rolling in the back of his head. Due to the earlier orgasm and the fact that Castiel didn’t entirely know what he was doing, it took a little longer for him to reach his peak. He watched the angel’s head rise and fall, rise and fall, felt his fingers inadvertently caressing his balls and his other hand gripping tightly to his base. Though he had never done it before, Castiel was a quick learner, able to deduce what was pleasurable just from the sounds Dean was making. And there were many sounds, moans and groans, loud enough to wake the dead.

Castiel sucked him off like a vacuum, pulling the cries of his name and curses out of him like a champion. He cried out in pleasure as the feelings became overbearing, pulling from him more than he had to give. Castiel’s mouth was hot, better than anything he had experienced in his entire life, and he wasn’t a beginner in the field of sex. He’d had many women do this to him, many that were experts, but nothing compared to the intensity of his angel on his cock. When Castiel’s cheeks sucked in, sucking him harder, he cried out and threw his head backward. He came so fiercely he saw nothing but white: a bright light that blinded him, and he passed out in a state of bliss.

 

* * *

 

“Dean?”

He heard the gruff voice almost immediately and he opened his eyes, glancing upward. He had never been one to blush, but hell if his cheeks weren’t redder than an apple at the moment. He had passed out in the throes. That had to be the girliest thing he had ever done, and he had a lot of chick moments. Still, the pleasure had been more than he could have ever deserved, and for that, he didn’t grumble and complain at the prospect of fainting. In fact, he stared at Castiel in wonder, lips twitching into a smile. His angel held him in his arms, his lips brushing his head softly as he pulled him upward a bit. They were still naked and flushed, Castiel’s pants gone from his ankles, and he basked in the feeling of the come-down from the high.

“I’m fine, you’re just amazing. Are you sure you haven’t done that before?”

The words left his lips before he could stop them, and he turned, slightly embarrassed. Castiel gripped his chin and gave him a kiss so fierce, he thought he would see stars. He stopped looking away to stare at the angel who had saved him from damnation more than once, and curled into his chest with a sigh. Dean Winchester wasn’t a cuddler, but he enjoyed the feeling of warmth his angel supplied. He trailed kisses along his chest in an innocent way, until he realized his stomach was growling. In fact, his stomach hurt like a motherfucker, not to mention he had a raging headache. The pleasure had been enough to help him ignore his bodily functions, but now that it was over, hell if he didn’t feel like he was going to die.

“Fuck… I need to eat.”

Dean leaned into Castiel for another moment before he stood from the bed, reaching for the clothes he had laid out after his shower. He dressed quickly, staring at the angel all the while, watching him look for his things. Castiel draped the overcoat on his shoulders without a thought as he pulled on his pants, copying Dean in dressing. He still wore no shirt, which garnered a reaction from Dean, even after the passion they had shared. His chest was bare and beautiful, and he felt himself stir at the sight of his angel wearing the coat without a shirt, pants low on his hips. The coat was too big for him, always had been, but Dean felt a sudden attachment to the thing. It was silly, but the coat was solely Castiel’s, his calling card, and it made him swell with elation.

“You’re a temptation if I ever saw one, Cas, but I really need to eat,” Dean mumbled as he trudged over toward the kitchen, his shoes keeping him safe from stray glass. “Don’t you go anywhere.”

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean tore into the cupboards and the refrigerator, but there was no food left aside from beer and bottles of water. He grabbed one of the waters and closed the door before turning toward his angel with a shrug.

"Guess we're going out to eat. You should put on a shirt first, though. I don't think they'll be able to serve us if they're staring at your chest. And I don't think I'd be able to eat, anyway, seething with jealousy. You’re too fucking beautiful for your own good.”

Castiel gave him a sultry glance before he dropped the overcoat, reaching for his shirt. He dressed himself accordingly, tie included, while Dean watched in fascination. He knew if he didn't stop drooling over the angel he was never going to eat, so he turned away and headed for the door. He could hear Castiel humming a tune, something he didn’t recognize, and it made him seem all the more human. As he walked, he could feel the angel following, and he grinned. Before they could leave, the door slammed open, almost falling off its hinges, and Sam came barreling in with a shout that sounded suspiciously like 'Dean'.

"Sammy, Christ."

His brother rushed to him to check him out for injuries, and he turned away in moments, apparently satisfied. He supposed it had something to do with the phone call from last night, but surprisingly, the thought of telling his brother what happened wasn’t bothering him. In fact, he felt the best he had in a long time. He pulled Sam in for a hug, and Sam simply stood there, eyes wide. Then he slapped a hand against his brother’s back as if he was glad to have him back to normal.

“We were just going to get some food. You can join us, tell us about the hunt. Then I’ll tell you what you want to know. Everything.”

Sam seemed to be surprised, but Dean didn’t wait for an answer. He walked outside into the cool morning air; the hangover still beating at his brain, but it didn’t stop him from basking in the sunlight. He felt alive for the first time in a while, able to enjoy his life instead of shirk away from it. Gone were the thoughts of Erial and what had been done to him. All he could think about was the future. He had his brother with him, who looked unharmed, and his angel was by his side, glowing bright and beautiful. It was an amazing sight, and he smiled at the prospect at finally getting over the entire ordeal he’d suffered.

Finally, things were beginning to look up.


	6. Depression

As it turned out, he had been lying to himself when he assumed things were going to look up. As soon as the group stepped outside, Dean had a feeling overcome him, a feeling of dread at the prospect of his family, his brother and his angel, finding out the entire truth. It was devastating that they would know he had been taken advantage of, that he had been beaten and bloodied and battered until he couldn’t move or speak, until he could do nothing but sit and wait for the next torture.  Sure, they knew some details about his time in Hell, and the looks they had given him afterward had been anything but acceptable. He felt like they felt sorry for him, were plagued by guilt and he didn’t need them to look at him like they didn’t know how to react. The cool air didn’t help, as it just reminded him of all the days he had been without, and he felt himself slipping, wanting to run back into the motel room and never look at the sky again.

Cas was by his side and gripping his hand like it was a lifeline, unable to move away. He could tell the angel wanted to help him, do whatever he could take to make him better, but there were just some things he would never get over – regardless of how many squeezes to his hand he received, or how many looks of kindness and emotion swirled upon the angel’s face. He smiled at him, trying his best to look normal, and it garnered a reaction from his angel. It was simple, really, a brush of lips against lips for a split second while Sam’s back was turned, but it managed to make him feel just a tiny bit like himself – though the thoughts didn’t disappear, he felt as if he had someone to lean on, though he wasn’t confident he could spill his guts, at least he could hold the angel to him and relish in his warmth. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

The restaurant was a small building on the corner of a road, with only a handful of patrons partaking in meals and drinks. The trio sat themselves in a booth and were hurriedly waited on by a woman with way too much make-up plastered on her face. Dean practically ignored her as he stared at Cas, who didn’t order anything, like usual. It reminded him that Cas was very much an angel, not human, and it was strange to think that an angel would be interested in him of all people, after everything that he had done, and in turn, everything that had been done to him, but he wasn’t necessarily complaining. He continued to stare, only taking a moment to give his order to the waitress - two eggs over easy with a side of bacon and sausage, and once she left, he gripped the angel's hand again and interlocked their fingers, as if the connection was more important than anything – the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. Cas smiled then, an honest-to-God ear to ear grin, and Dean quickly glanced at his brother, who was gaping at them in what appeared to be fascination.

Dean didn’t start talking right away; he let the moment between him and Cas flood into his brother's brain. Dean would never be ashamed of the feelings between him and his angel, regardless of how straight and narrow he had seemed to his brother only months before. He’d always been Dean Winchester, womanizer and playboy, and it was probably strange to see him so close to a man, let alone an angel. If he was surprised, though, he didn’t show it. Sam already knew about him and Cas, at least, knew there were some unresolved feelings between the two. Dean had made sure of that when he was drunk, though inadvertently, spilling his guts. He could remember vaguely what he had said to him on the phone, and Sam had mentioned he needed the angel while he was having the breakdown, the one statement that was clearer than ever in his cloudy mind. He shouldn’t remember, hell, he’d blacked out, but the words were right there in his subconscious, swirling around his brain, and damn if he wasn't right. He needed him more than he needed breathing, and that was a scary thought, to say the least.

Dean sat as close to Cas as he could in the booth without plopping into his lap, and before he could stare up into eyes as blue as the sky, his brother cleared his throat rather loudly. One look at Sam and he wanted to punch him. He looked so knowing, a smile spreading across his face and a twinkle in his eye that hadn't been there before. It was as if he was glad to finally see them happy, and though Dean understood, it was insane to see such acceptance in so little time. He thought there would have been some sort of struggle, some weird feelings between them, but he had been wrong. And for a moment, he wondered why he had thought those things in the first place. He was his brother, for fuck sake.

"So..." Sam started, glancing between the two with a chuckle that brought Dean out of his reverie.  "You two are cute together."

"Sam..."

Sam laughed then, a jovial sound that made Dean's insides clench. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen Sam laugh like that; happy, content, and able to just live without something wearing down on him. Hell, given the fact that they were still smack dab in the middle of the apocalypse, with the Devil looming over their heads, and a dark air of torture still hanging around them, that was quite a feat. Dean felt his lips curl into an actual smile, and they laughed, with Cas joining in with his small smile, only moments later, if only to feel like he belonged. The thought caused Dean to wrap his arms around him, squeezing with all he could muster, and Cas immediately looked less stiff – comfortable, as if the contact was enough to keep him grounded. For that small instance, with his brother and his angel laughing and looking happy and content, he could push his problems to the back of his mind and try to forget. It was a relief, to say the least, the darkness being thrust from him and giving him a reprieve he so desperately needed.

Dean wanted the moment to last, the smiles and the kindness and the overall familiarity, but there was just no way the mirth would continue, given the conversation that needed to happen. The thought instantly broke his light-hearted feelings, and he could feel himself slipping away from the two, breaking apart like glass. His arms fell to his sides, his personality shifting in less than a second, and Cas noticed immediately, taking his hand under the table rather tightly – he assumed it was to make him feel confidence as he spilled his guts about the torture. It almost worked, but then Dean remembered just a few of the details of his time with Erial, and he was clammy and uncomfortable in seconds. He wanted to spit it out, tell them all the details, but there were just some things he couldn’t share with them in such a public setting. And that was really why he had chosen the restaurant. He said he’d tell them everything – but really, what he meant was, he’d give them a glance into what he suffered, see how they reacted, and go from there.

Both of the men knew certain things about his torture. He had hinted to the angel that he had been violated, but he hadn’t exactly told him outright. There would be a time for that, he was sure, just not in front of his brother, who was already looking at him like he could break at any given moment – looking sad and heartbroken that he had suffered such torture. And Sam knew a small amount, only enough to make him feel bad. Sam probably blamed himself, and he couldn’t put more on his brother’s shoulders. Sam assumed he had just been tortured, just like in Hell, and he would keep it that way, if only for a little while. Cas, though, Cas would need to know everything, especially if they were going to be… whatever it was they were, together. He took one glance at the angel thought that, perhaps, he could share everything with him. He could let him know the extent of what he had gone through, he could look into those eyes and explain everything and more; he couldn’t let him stay in the dark for too long. The angel deserved to know why he had flipped out on him recently, why he had changed so drastically, there was just no way he could keep him unknowing. He shouldn’t, anyway. He breathed deeply before he decided it was time to tell them _something_. The way they were looking at him, like they expected the worst, finally drew the words from his lips.

“Erial was a master. He knew how to cut and rip and tear through every piece of flesh that was available to him. And every night, whenever he was finished with me and I lay bleeding and broken, he would heal me. I don’t know how they managed to do it, but I would be back together again, every morning, when they came for more.

Sometimes he wouldn’t be around, and others would take his place, and it was a reprieve. He was something else, perhaps not as strong as Alastair or as knowledgeable, but he had… skills, and he tore me to pieces like nothing I’ve ever fought before. The hellhound that dragged me to Hell didn’t even make me bleed as much as this bastard managed. Every night they broke me in different ways, cutting into different areas, using techniques which they hadn’t even dreamed of in Hell. It was strange that a few demons on Earth had skills that rivaled those in Hell, and even worse, they used them on me. They poked and prodded at me, asking me questions I couldn’t answer, I wouldn’t answer. They would never get a thing out of me.”

Dean started talking and felt himself slipping again. He didn’t dare tell Sam that the torture had mostly been about finding him, or information about him. He couldn’t bear to tell his brother that he was partially responsible for what had happened – it would kill him. It didn’t take very long for memories to come crashing down on him, and he looked rather empty as he continued, giving them the bare minimum of what he suffered, of what tormented him. The images were swirling through his mind, but he didn’t see the demons cutting him open and breaking him. No, he saw Erial lying on top of him, rutting against him, taking him over and over again until he cried out in agony or passed out from exhaustion and pain.

He couldn’t look at Cas now, couldn’t even hold his hand without feeling like he was going to hurt him and soil him further, and he let go, unable to feel the connection. He didn’t want it at the moment and he certainly wasn’t good enough for it. He had been sullied and dirtied until there was nothing clean left of him, and immediately, he regretted the actions between him and Cas from earlier. The angel didn’t deserve to be pushed around and thrown about like he was nothing, nor did he deserve to be drawn in just to be pushed away. He was so much better than Dean would ever be, and they couldn’t keep the thing between them going like it was. He knew that if he continued to lead the angel on, he would hurt him beyond repair, and though Dean was a bastard, he wasn’t going to do that to his closest friend, no matter how dark his past was. Dean couldn’t keep hurting him, wouldn’t be able to give him what he deserved in the end, and cutting the ties between them now would be the best bet for the both of them, no matter how close they had been only moments ago.

Cas tried to grip his hand again, but Dean suddenly pulled away, unable to touch him. He glanced at the angel for a brief moment, seeing the look of pure sadness on his face, and he quieted down for a few minutes, giving them time to adjust to all the information that was pouring out of him, before he rambled on. He talked and talked, going through the torture as if it had been another day in the field. He didn’t look at the angel again, but he could feel him – feel that sadness and melancholy creeping around him and squeezing, and it was a clawing feeling, one that would never let him go as long as they were in the same room. Hell, he wasn’t going to feel better away from him either, and Dean hated himself for it. He was dependent on the angel, no matter how he looked at it.

And wasn’t that just great. Dean Winchester, dependent on both his baby brother and his angel, unable to be his own person or feel comfortable in his own skin: he always needed someone else there, shielding him, holding him, simply being there. His own voice wasn’t enough to soothe him, and that’s how he knew he was damned. Considering he felt as though he would drag them into the mud with him, he didn’t know what to do. Should he leave them to their own devices, where they would be safe and sound, while he fell into himself and broke apart until he was nothing more than the shell of the man he once was? He glanced for a moment at his brother, who was staring at him with a knowing look etched across his face. He always knew when there was something really wrong with him, they had always been close, brothers in everything including blood. He couldn’t even look at Cas now, knowing if he did, he would be lost, and would make up his mind immediately at the sight of his sadness.

Sam didn’t say a word, simply nodded and accepted everything, and he was glad he was his brother. He understood and loved him, and wanted desperately to help. It was a soothing thought, until he realized how disgusted he would be if he told him the entire truth. Sam would be fine about the torture until he realized the true extent, that after repeated beatings and violations, he had eventually given up trying to fight. He had allowed Erial to do what he wanted after a while, and the thought sickened him to the core, knew it would rip his relationship with his brother to pieces. He didn’t think Sam would leave him or push him away, but he wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye correctly again, and that thought was enough to keep him quiet for a while. Dean was dirty – filthy, and nothing would cleanse his soul, not even the family he so desperately wanted. The thought made him depressed, no, the thought made him want to rip himself from existence and never allow his presence to ruin the lives of those he cared about most again.

Their food arrived only moments after the silence began to grow deafening, and Dean began to pick at his eggs like they were creatures of the deep, stabbing them with a ferocity he hadn’t known he possessed. He gained a few side glances from Sam, but he didn’t pay attention. His moods were disjointed and all over the place, and at that moment, he knew he wasn’t ready to share anything else. He wanted to stand up, run away, and never come back, and he knew that would just lead to more pain, more anguish, and more torment. He ate quietly, and no one rushed him to continue. They didn’t speak, and the silence hung over them until Dean couldn’t take it anymore.

He still wouldn’t let Cas hold his hand, feeling too disgusted with himself and hating his very core, and the angel seemed to take offense to that, or at least, that was what it looked like to him when he dared a glance at the angel for a split second. He was pulling away. Cas would say he wanted to give him a break and some space, but he felt as if he was moving because he was disgruntled. No matter what they shared, how many feelings radiated between the pair, he would never be good enough. Dean felt tears claw at the brink of his eyelids, but before he could break down and cry, he pulled himself together with the last vestige of his self-control.

“How did the hunt go?” He asked his brother, glancing at him for a moment before he looked away again, obviously unable to keep eye contact. His voice was deep and scratchy, conveying his desire to fall apart and cry, but he wouldn’t fall to the temptation. He could hear Sam’s intake of breath, as if he was surprised he wanted to know about the small hunt, but he didn’t say anything on the matter.

“As it turned out, the werewolf had a partner. I didn’t think I’d be able to take on two of them, but it actually wasn’t as hard as I thought. Took them down right before they could take out another victim.”

Dean nodded while Sam went on about the werewolves having wanted to kill partners because they couldn’t be together, or some shit, but he eventually tuned out the sound of his brother’s voice as he glanced over at Cas, who seemed to be just as uninterested as he was. He thought that if they could talk about something else, keep their minds on other things, they wouldn’t be so inclined to leave and sulk. But, hell, all he wanted to do was go back to the motel and stuff his face into a pillow and sleep his life away. He was never known to be one of those depressing people who didn’t care about the life they led, who would stay at home for days and days and never try to improve their lives, but he didn’t care at this point. Depression was a mother.

While Sam went on and on about werewolves, Dean was inclined to finish his breakfast and go on with his ignoring and sulking. He downed a cup of coffee and glanced at his brother for a moment, taking in the sight of his confusion. He nodded, trying to make Sam think he was paying attention, and that seemed to stir Sam on even more until Dean stood up – moving to leave the table. Sam quieted down immediately, glancing at Dean with a questioning gaze. He could feel the heat of his brother’s stare bearing a hole into his back, and it was disconcerting, but not enough to get him to turn around.

“I could really use some rest. I think all my injuries are catching up to me. Uh… Cas, you can go and do... uh... heavenly things, or whatever it is you do. We’ll see you later, okay?”

He hoped Cas didn’t realize that he just dismissed him, and when the angel nodded, he suddenly felt grateful. Cas didn’t disappear in the middle of the restaurant, he walked out until he was out of sight, and Dean let loose a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He wanted to stay with him, but there was no way he could even look at him right now. There were some things he needed to think about on his own, even though only hours ago he had begged the angel to come back. It wasn’t like Cas was leaving him, he could call him back at any time and explain. Taking a gander at his brother, he nodded before they left the restaurant after throwing a few bills on the table. He could still feel Sam’s worrying gaze branding into his back as he crawled into the Impala.

 

* * *

 It didn’t take very long for them to arrive at the motel, and once Dean exited the Impala, he practically ran inside the room, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep and forget. He left the door wide open as he rushed inside after fumbling with the keys, and he immediately went for the bed. The place was cleaned up, a little too clean, and Dean noticed Sam was taking in the sight suspiciously before he glanced down at him. Dean plopped down on the bed and hurried to drop his head onto a pillow, and though he wasn’t particularly tired, he was incredibly fatigued. His thoughts were dark for a few moments, but they quickly strayed to Cas, and he thought about the angel more than he ever had. For a moment, he regretted sending him away, but he needed some time to cool his jets, think about what was happening, and devise a strategy. Of course, that wouldn’t happen – not in his condition, anyway. He really wanted to just sleep and sleep and never wake up.

“Dean, I left you alone in the restaurant because I thought you needed space. But man, I’m not gonna let you go to sleep without us talking a little. I understand what you’ve gone through, I really do. I wish I could have been there to help you through it. That son of a bitch demon should have never been able to hurt you like that. I should have done something!”

Dean really did not want to have such a conversation, but the tone his brother was using gave him pause. He did feel guilty, probably felt like it was his fault even without knowing the truth. And Dean couldn’t just let him keep ripping into himself like that, no matter how bad he was feeling. He was his brother, and there were just some things brothers had to do for each other. No matter what he had been through, he would always strive to make his younger brother feel better. The old Dean would have made a joke and told him to lay off and stop treating him like a chick, but not now. He couldn’t even pretend to be in a joking mood, he just didn’t feel it.

He sat up and stared at Sam, wondering why their lives had to turn out the way they had. Blood family gone, many friends gone, trips to Hell and stints with torture, demon blood, the god damned Apocalypse, continuous deaths, and everything else that had gone to shit. It was maddening to even think something good would happen to them, they always drew the short straw.

But then there was Cas. The angel that had pushed into their lives so suddenly, pulling him from Hell and saving him countless times, over and over. The angel had thrust into their day-to-day, becoming closer to the both of them, and Dean was beginning to realize just how close they truly were. He always did what he could to help, no matter how dangerous or how it affected him in the long run. He was always there, watching, waiting, always willing. The thought made Dean’s eyes tear at the prospect of losing him or pushing him away, but it didn’t get rid of the feeling that he was worthless, and would never be worth the angel’s love. Love… he hadn’t thought about that particular emotion, but he was beginning to think that perhaps the closeness between the two was ranging close to it, that he loved Cas. And that was enough to rip him apart.

Regardless of how close they were becoming, how strong their feelings for one another were coalescing, there would always be something keeping them apart, and Dean couldn’t give in – it would be downright selfish. Cas had already fallen for his charms, they had kissed and more, and he couldn’t keep leading him on. He wasn’t good enough, would never be even close to what Cas deserved. He was beautiful, a streak of gold in a dismal world, a shining star among dull black sky, an Eden in a meaningless world. And Dean… well, he was everything wrong with the universe. A broken husk of a man, ripped apart from the inside out, left to rot like a husk. He just couldn’t throw his burdens on the angel anymore, couldn’t ruin him with the emotions that were starting to spiral out of control.

“Dean?”

He looked up from his pillow; he’d completely forgotten his brother was in the room, and the thought made him guilty. One glance at Sam and he knew he couldn’t keep neglecting him. His face was filled with concern, and in that moment, he wanted to tell him what he was thinking. He couldn’t deal with it alone – not now, not when he wanted to help him more than anything. All thoughts of torture were suddenly gone from his mind, replaced with Cas, Cas, Cas. He ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

“Sam, I’m damaged.” He began, not caring about the look of surprise he gained for his sudden outburst. “I’m so fucked up – I can’t even have a normal breakfast with my brother without having a breakdown. And then there’s Cas.”

There was no turning back now, he thought with a grimace, as he sat up. He normally hated talking about his feelings, but he knew his brother needed to understand some things about him, even though they were dark. He deserved as much. Sam’s stare was downright uncomfortable, but he knew he wasn’t judging him, and that made him continue.

“Cas… man, I can’t stop thinking about him. I never felt this way about anyone. Who would have thought I’d end up in such a rut over a man – an angel, no less. But he’s just… I don’t know, perfect, I guess, not to sound like a sap. He’s always there, always trying to help. We treat him like shit, but still, he’s there. He sacrificed everything for me, for us. He pretty much gave up Heaven to help… And then there’s me, man. Torn, scarred, ripped to shit by a son of a bitch demon, can’t even get over it. I’m not worth the time of day, but Cas keeps trying.”

He was having trouble getting the words out, he’d never been the type of person to spill his guts and leave himself vulnerable. He didn’t look up at Sam, just fell forward and hid his face in his pillow again, turning around to show him his back. Sam didn’t say anything at first, taking a deep breath. Dean waited for him to tell him that he was fine, that he would be better given time and Cas would always be there, and he wasn’t disappointed. Sam always tried.

“Look, Dean. You need to do what is best for you. Cas will understand. The way he looks at you… hell, man, I think you’d be crazy to pass that up. But if you need time to work it out with yourself, you need time. No one can force you to do anything; you gotta take care of yourself. I’m always around for you, too, if you need a push in the right direction. And Cas? Well, he’s not going anywhere, and he’ll wait for you, I can tell just looking at him. The way he’s always looking at you and doing anything he can for you… shit, I knew there was something between you two for a while.”

Dean didn’t want to think too hard about what his brother was saying. He still felt like he was worthless, like Cas could do so much better than him. He had been to Hell, tortured and broken until he was silent, then he had been raped and used over and over, scarred and fucked up beyond repair. Cas didn’t need that, he could still return to Heaven, be amongst his own kind and get away from the fucked up Winchester family. And though the angel would be good for him, would help him get through the darkness that surrounded his day-to-day, he still needed to think about Cas’ well-being over his own.

“Dammit, Sam. I’m not worth it. I’m flawed, what kind of person would I be if I trapped Cas in this life? I can’t do it to him, man.”

“I don’t think it’s your decision what Cas does, Dean.” Sam interrupted, his voice a little higher in pitch, as if he was feeling a tad bit annoyed. “He’s old and smart enough to make his own decisions, remember? He doesn’t need you to worry about how he can… uh… handle you. You’re not broken; you’re just in a bad way right now. You’ve been through a lot, and I understand. But don’t you think Cas has the right to be there for you?”

Dean didn’t respond, and as Sam went on and on, he tried his best to ignore his words. Cas would be better off without him, he wouldn’t be in danger all the time, wouldn’t have to suffer when Dean hurt him over something he couldn’t control. Eventually, Sam sighed in exasperation and left after muttering something that sounded like ‘you need to let go, man’. Dean was pissed at himself, angry that he had needed to talk about it. He should have just shut his mouth, dealt with his own problems, and lived with it. He fell against the pillow with a heavy heart, staring at the wall on the other side of the room. All he could think about was the inevitable heartache on Castiel’s face when he told him to move on – that he couldn’t defile him any longer.

After an hour of sulking, Dean nodded off and fell asleep. Hours dragged by, with him tossing and turning, until he woke in the middle of the night. Sam was nowhere to be seen, nor was Cas, and he felt relieved. He just wanted to lie around and laze. His stomach was growling again, and his mouth was dry, but he didn’t move to take care of it. Instead, he plopped over on his stomach and closed his eyes, just thinking. The hours passed like that, slow and unrelenting, with Dean’s mind going a mile a minute.

The sun rose after what felt like the longest night of his life, and he was about to pull the covers over his eyes before Sam came barreling into the room like he owned the place. He was tired now, having stayed up all night worrying and wallowing, but Sam didn’t seem to care. He rushed toward him with a knowing glare, slapping his side without knowing he was awake or not. Dean twisted and mumbled quietly, but didn’t rush to his feet. The first thought that tumbled into his head was that he needed a drink, or twelve, but he didn’t say a word to his brother about that.

“Come on, Dean. We need to get the hell out of this motel. Management has started to bitch, you know what that means. Gotta get going. I found another hunt and I think it’s time we actually work together again, you know? We’re headed to Boston. So get your ass out of bed and let’s go already!”

Dean grumbled but hurried to comply; taking a shower that was longer than he anticipated. He stood under the stream of water that was turning cold, staring ahead at the white wall instead of cleaning himself. He wondered what Cas was doing, then tried to put him out of his mind. Just the thought of the angel had him hard, but he ignored the throb between his legs as he started to wash himself. He wasn’t gentle, practically ripped open his skin with the cheap bar of soap, but it helped. He deflated after a while and left the shower, dressing with not an ounce of enthusiasm. Sam was bitching in the other room about the time he was taking, but he didn’t rush.

A half an hour later, after Dean had a bottle of water and some food in his system, mostly because Sam wouldn’t leave him alone about it, they were seated in the Impala and on the road. Sam chattered away about random things – trying to get him to feel better, he’d wager. Dean only spoke when the silence was too much, and even then, his responses were clipped and to the point. After a while, he mentioned to Sam that he needed some rest, having not gotten enough sleep during the night, and he turned away from him in an instant. The radio played away, but he wasn’t paying attention to the music once he dropped his head back, staring at the ceiling of the car. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep.

And he dreamt.

* * *

_It started off pleasantly enough – he was lying beneath his angel, moaning into his mouth as his hand gripped him tightly. His cock twitched in his grasp, and he felt himself slipping as the moments ticked by, the pleasure mounting with each stroke. Sounds escaped his lips that he never would have guessed would come from him. He cried the angel’s name over and over, a plea for more, begging him to drive him over the edge. His ministrations ceased abruptly, and Dean cried out in agony, needing more. He glanced upward at the love of his life, who stared, seemingly transfixed, blue eyes filled with everything he wanted and more. Dean gripped the back of his head, pulling him down until their lips were flush, rutting against his thigh wantonly while mewling against his lips as his tongue tantalized his flesh, leaving him sloppy and wet. Dean cried out when the angel pulled away. He tried to get closer, but every time, Cas pushed him._

_“Cas? Cas, come on. Fuck me, baby. Please. I want to feel you inside me.”_

_Dean moaned at the words that exploded from his own lips, imagining the angel’s cock pushed into him until he could get no deeper. He pulled at Cas’ hips, bringing him closer, placing his lips against his in a chaste kiss. He felt the nails in his flesh a moment later, pain taking over, knocking the pleasure away until he cried out and slapped the angel. But Cas wasn’t being loving with him now – in fact, he was pushing Dean back into the bed forcefully while staring down at him with a look of malice. Dean watched him cautiously, trying to figure out the change and what had brought it on, when the sight of black eyes gave him pause. He didn’t stay quiet and unmoving for long. He pushed at Castiel, trying to drive him away, but his strength was more than he could overpower. The fake angel gripped his wrists and held him down as he grinned, an expression that he had never seen on his face._

_“Get the fuck off me!” He screamed, struggling to get away._

_The hold on his wrists was too much for him to bear, a shout of pain breaking through, and Cas laughed – actually_ laughed _at him. The sound was evil, so unlike the true Castiel, who would usually curl his lip into a smile instead of laughing out loud. Dean moved to knee him in the groin, but the man on top of him hurried to jut to the side, avoiding the hit. Fake Cas gripped him by the throat, holding him down, his fingers clenching until he felt the pressure on his windpipe. His eyes rolled to the back of his head after a few moments, but he didn’t get knocked out. The fingers left his throat right before a hand slapped him forcibly, and he gasped at the pain._

_“You’re not allowed to pass out, Deany. You get to feel it all. But please, do continue fighting me. It’s hotter that way. I want to fuck you while you scream in pain.”_

_The voice wasn’t Castiel’s – but it_ was _one he recognized. When he glanced up with hooded eyes due to pain, he saw the one person he didn’t want to see. Erial was above him, all black eyes and blond hair, grinning. Dean struggled again, trying his best to get away, but all he managed to do was turn Erial on even more – and the thought sickened him, he didn’t want to be his entertainment. He felt warmth at the base of his ass, and he cried out in agony at the sudden advance._

_“I’m going to fuck you so hard, Dean. I’m going to break you apart. I’ll make you enjoy it, I promise. In a few moments, you’ll forget all about your precious angel. While I’m inside you, you’ll be crying out for my cock, not his. You’ll be wishing I was nearby always, ready to fuck you.”_

_Without a care, Erial pushed into him with a jolt. The pain was immediate, worse than anything he had to suffer with before. It was an invasion, pure and simple, and he bled at the excruciating friction. He cried out in agony, but Erial laughed as he pummeled into him, over and over. Dean closed his eyes and tried to think about anything but the pain, anything at all, that would help him through the ordeal. He thought about Castiel, about how much he loved him, about how disgusted he would be if only he knew. Self-hatred was brought to life with each thrust, and he was crying toward the end as Erial shook, emptying inside him._

_“Dean Winchester, are you crying? You worthless, worthless worm. He will never give you what I can give you. You are nothing, a sack of self-loathing, a piece of trash. You aren’t good enough for your skin, let alone an angel. He will always forsake you, you pathetic creature. But I will always be there in your mind. I will always be watching, waiting for the moment to strike. I will pounce on you and fuck you until you bleed. And where will your precious angel be? He won’t even think of you!”_

* * *

Dean woke covered in sweat and screaming, eyes wider than they ever had been before. The car wasn’t moving, and he could hear Sam frantically telling him to calm down. He glanced over toward him, trying to focus on the world, the real world. It had felt so real, he’d actually thought he was back at the motel room with Erial, and it made him sick. He hurried to open the car door and rush out, all the food he had eaten rushing out of him in waves. Sam hurried by his side, placing a hand on his shoulder, and Dean started punching, aiming at his brother, trying to get away.

“Fuck, Dean! Calm down!”

It took all of his effort, but he finally stopped attacking, taking a deep breath after wiping his mouth. There were some things that were too troubling, and that dream definitely was number one on his what-the-fuck list. Sam was staring at him, obviously freaked out, and though he was concerned, Dean didn’t think to tell him a thing as he jumped into the car. Sam wasn’t so quiet, however.

“Dean, what the fuck was that?! You almost took my damn head off!”

He shrugged, crossing his arms across his chest in a fashion that said ‘back off, I won’t tell you shit’. Sam seemed to take it as incentive to keep going.

“Tell me, man. Tell me what’s so bad that you almost knocked me over.”

“Sam, fuck, it’s nothing. I had a nightmare is all. Just get in the fucking car and drive.” He was breathing heavy, as if the exertion had been too much, and Sam noticed almost immediately.

“Look, I think it’d be a good idea to stop at another motel. You look like shit and need actual rest.”

Dean ignored him from that moment on, but knew he was getting back into the car, and immediately, he turned away, looking out of the window and focusing on the scenery. He couldn’t think about Erial, not now, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to think about Cas. He simply stared, mind as empty as he could get it, as they drove.

Eventually the car stopped and Sam mentioned they had arrived quietly. He hadn’t bothered to talk to him for the last hour, and though he knew Sam wanted to go on and on about the dream, he didn’t say a word. Thankful, he stepped out of the car and followed his brother inside. He didn’t talk to the man at the counter, left Sam to do that, and looked around. It was another shithole, but by now, he was used to them. They had been sleeping in shitty motels since day one, and though the dream came back in a rush of sickness and the sight of the motel room doors, he pushed it back, knowing it was better than being cooped up in the car when he could throw up at any moment.

Once they were checked in, they headed for the room they booked. Dean immediately jumped for the shower, even though he had taken one earlier, needing the hot water desperately. He felt downright filthy, as if the dream had actually happened. His skin burned with the desire to get clean.

“I’m going to get us some food. You’re gonna need some after you just puked your guts out. You gonna be okay, man?” Sam shouted, but Dean slammed the bathroom door before he could reply. He felt like shit for treating his brother in such a way, but he couldn’t look at him, couldn’t talk to him after that dream. He felt disgusting and terrible, and the only way to get clean would be to wash himself for ages.

And that was just what he did.

He spent an hour in the shower with the scorching hot water, hoping it would be enough. But it wasn’t. It would never cleanse him as deeply as he needed. His skin was harshly red, as if he had been in the sun for way too long, and he felt the burn as cold water took place of the hot, searing him worse than he could imagine. He took the pain, and was reminded of Erial almost immediately. That thought made him turn the water off with a cry, and he stood there, unable to leave the stall, shaking and wanting more than anything to drown his sorrows in a bottle or two. Fat tears fell from his eyes almost immediately, and he let himself go, crying his eyes out until he had nothing left, until he was empty.

He left the shower on hushed feet about a half hour later, brushed his teeth, and dressed himself without care. He didn’t even bother with drying, just threw on an old AC/DC t-shirt and a pair of sweats from his bag, hair dripping everywhere. He left the bathroom without thinking about glancing upward, but he felt almost immediately that he wasn’t alone. Lifting his head, he gasped. Castiel was staring at him, blue eyes blazing. The angel started walking toward him with a purpose, and when he lifted a hand to cup his cheek, Dean recoiled almost immediately. The movement caused Cas to pull away reluctantly, but not for long. He closed in on him and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, arms wrapping around him. Dean didn’t move, simply stood there, shaking.

“Cas…”


	7. Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the story has finally come to an end, and I'd just like to say thank you to those who've read it and enjoyed it.  
> I may be adding an epilogue of some kind to this, maybe some drabbles that fit into this 'verse. Keep an eye out!

"Dean…"

Dean shook down to his foundation, trying to pull away from the angel that held him tenderly. His voice was deeper than usual, fraying his calm and making him back away ever slightly. Though he wanted to melt into his angel and listen to him speak for hours, he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling of unease that trickled down his spine. The dream had felt so real, and though he knew the figure before him was the true Castiel, it didn't change the fact that he was terrified. The sight of Castiel staring down at him, grinning, black eyes staring into his very soul, was a sight he would never forget. He knew it wasn’t real, knew this angel in front of him would never hurt him in that sense, yet he was frightened.

The angel's arms wrapped around him tightly, trying to provide the comfort he desperately needed, with his face burying in Dean's neck. The thought made Dean pause in his attempt to move away; and therefore, he pushed closer into the contact, regardless of his rapid heartbeat and crippling fear. The feeling was too calming, too soothing, and he felt the memories of his dream begin to fade, replaced by kindness and a sweet, tender sight of his angel. Castiel was twitching and shaking, as if the effect was doubled for him, as if he knew what Dean was going through, and that improved his confidence. He lifted his arms only slightly against Castiel’s back, finding himself comforting the angel in turn, who was, ironically, there to help _him_. It was strange, and for a moment, he felt as if the entire situation was right, that they belonged in that motel room, clenched to each other and both seemingly on the verge of tears.

The shaking of his angel increased, and Dean forgot about his pain, his agony, his memories and dreams, and he held him tight. The odd feeling of an angel of the Lord shaking while holding him brought him back to reality. This being was indeed his Cas, the very angel who had saved him. He pulled him from Hell without a qualm, rescued him from another group of demons, and had been by his side during numerous occasions. Their bond was growing daily, with each debilitating endeavor, and it was frightening to realize just how close they were becoming. Dean's heart clenched at the thought, and though he wanted more than anything to stay close, to keep their connection going and make it grow, he knew without a doubt that he needed to sever their closeness before it became something they both couldn't handle: before it coalesced into a maelstrom that would swallow them whole.

If he waited any longer, he would be lost to the warmth the angel provided, and he wouldn't be able to get away. To tear himself away from the angel now, to thrust some distance between them and a solitary boundary, was the best option. There was no alternative. He was filth and wasn't worth the love and devotion an angel could provide, and there was just no getting around that fact, no matter how hard his subconscious tried. With a cry, he pushed the angel out of his arms and looked away immediately. Tears filled his eyes but they were unmoving as he held them back, attempting to the best of his ability to have a shred of dignity. He remembered a time when he didn’t cry so much over every little thing, though he knew he had always been a crier. Nowadays, he could hardly contain himself in the desire to bawl his eyes out, and that was a new experience he didn’t want to continue to go through.

He didn't turn to look at Castiel; instead, he maneuvered to flee, feeling as though it was the perfect opportunity to finally get away. He just couldn’t keep sullying the grace and beauty of the angel in front of him, it would be selfish and downright evil – and though Dean had done terrible things in his lifetime, he wasn’t enough of a bastard to destroy the angel too. Castiel, however, was having none of it. He gripped Dean's arms with angelic strength, and Dean could feel his gaze falling down upon him, burning into every vestige within. The heat that suffused through his very core burned and burned, igniting his soul and ripping at his self-control with sharpened claws. Dean struggled to get away, keeping his gaze pinned on the other side of the room. He knew that if he looked toward him even once, he would fall into the cerulean depths of his angel's eyes and would fall irrevocably.

The grip on his arm wouldn't let up, no matter how much he shouted and pulled away. There was no pain, nothing that could put the angel in the wrong; just the idea of being pulled and forced forward was enough to drive him wild. He wasn't acting like himself – he knew, but the pain and the memories were returning in that sudden moment. He heard a deep intake of breath from the angel, and that was when he risked a glance. When he saw the look of pure desperation and sadness etched across his face, he knew how much of a mistake that one glimpse had been. He stopped pulling away, ceased moving entirely and fell apart. His limbs gave out immediately as he toppled over onto the floor without another thought. Castiel came along, falling to his knees before him, gripping his shoulders and holding on for dear life. Dean felt broken then; a mirror shattered to pieces, a puzzle thrown to bits, the last semblance of fight retreating, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake.

"There's nothing to fight for, Cas. Nothing to try to repair. I'm empty. Broken. Just give up. Leave me alone and go. You've saved me enough. I can’t keep putting you through this shit, man, you don’t deserve it."

His words left him in a rush, as if he couldn't contain himself. Castiel loosened his grip on him, and in that moment, he truly thought he would give up and leave. But then, Castiel lifted his chin and stared directly at him. Just one more look into those eyes, and Dean suddenly felt as if his entire being was ripped from his chest. The pain reflected there, the outright agony, was disturbing. He had never seen such emotion in the eyes of the angel before, never even realized he was capable of such a feat. Castiel stared at him, looking as though he wanted to bellow and fall apart as well, but he held it together. He placed his cheek upon Dean's in that instant, a shaky breath leaving his lips. Dean thought, for an instant, that a tear would roll from an eye, but it never came, just the sadness, the endless depth of woe.

"Dean. No matter what may have happened to you, no matter how many times you may have been hurt, you will never be beyond saving. Dean Winchester will never fall apart and break. He is too strong, way too strong, to lose himself at the whims of demons. I could feel it, Dean. The pain you suffered, the agony. I could feel your rage, your strength, your determination. Everything you experienced, I was there with you. Every emotion you lived through, I took every single one upon myself. You will never, in any instance, be alone. Each moment, each strike and tear, I was there. Watching, making sure you survived. I couldn’t find you, couldn’t get the torment to stop, and for that, I am beyond sorry. I did whatever I could, everything I could attempt, to try and help you. The anguish you suffered was unparalleled, and I tried to pull the brunt of it away."

At the words, Dean felt himself stiffen. He didn’t know what he could possibly say after that declaration, he was too taken aback. Various thoughts barreled into his mind after Castiel went silent, all coming back to ‘I could feel it, Dean’. He was struck dumb for a few moments, staring into the depths of blue he had become so familiar with. Castiel watched him, reproachful, perhaps wondering how he was going to go about helping without making anything worse. Dean saw the deep pain reflected in those eyes, and he wanted more than anything to soothe him and take his pain into himself – just as the angel had seemed to have done for him. He was quite sure Castiel was going through something equally as traumatizing as he himself was, yet still, the need for distance was paramount. That clawing, gripping, twisting bane called guilt was making him want to pull away and never return. However, he couldn’t move. The words the angel uttered were swirling through his mind, over and over, and he found himself glued to the floor, staring.

After the silence stretched to uncomfortable levels, Dean lifted a hand to the angel’s cheek, but it hovered, fingers twitching. His mind continued to tell him to leave, but there was just no way he could do that now. Curiosity was taking hold, as well as a strong feeling that wasn’t letting go. It would be a good idea to move away – to forget this conversation was taking place and leave without another word, but he was now resolute, and no matter how much better it would be for the both of them, he stood his ground. Dean wanted to know what he meant, why those words were spilling out of him in heaps, and running away wouldn’t help. He didn’t move closer to caress him, and his hand still floated there, inches away from the angel’s skin. That hand stayed put for a few more agonizing moments, achingly close to touching him, before he dropped it with an anguished cry.

“What do you mean?”

His voice was low – cautionary, and the angel’s presence grew less encroaching as his gaze fluttered away. The warmth in Dean’s chest was replaced by a coldness that made him shiver. His hand returned, quivering for a moment before he gripped the angel’s chin lightly, turning his head and returning the stare that had been absolutely penetrating only moments before. The pain in his gaze was doubled, and Dean was having trouble keeping it together as he stared transfixed. He looked as if he was the one being tormented, as if he was the broken one.

Though he didn’t want to believe it, Dean suddenly understood what he meant when he said the words. He could _feel_ it, literally, and the idea made him physically sick. His throat closed in on itself as he figured it out. Castiel didn’t rush to say a word, and the quiet made Dean’s control shift. He wanted to hear the words from his lips, wanted to know exactly what he had meant from the angel himself. His grip loosened until his hand fell, but Castiel didn’t get a chance to pull away before Dean’s hands bunched into his shirt, pulling him closer and closer until they were chest to chest. Dean glared, he couldn’t help it. The proximity between them was clawing and devastating, but Dean ignored the tingle that ran through his body easily, anger and many other emotions taking precedence over lust.

“Cas. Tell me. Tell me what you mean. Right now.”

The words fell from his lips as a command, loud and unrelenting, and Castiel stared at him before he took a shaky breath. He didn’t try to create space between them; if anything, Castiel grew closer, their lips only inches apart. Dean could feel his breath lingering close, dangerously close, lips inches from touching. Though he wanted to push forward, he didn’t move, didn’t stray from his path. However, for an instance, Dean wondered what would happen if he closed the distance between them.

The rage building in his system was enough of an indicator to how the entire situation would go. He would end up hurting the angel again, both physically and emotionally. He would show just how dark and destructive he was to both himself and others, again, would make Alastair and Erial proud of his ruthlessness.  He could even hear them, laughing, edging him on and congratulating him. It was a sickening thought, and one he would cease entertaining.

He couldn’t keep hurting him – it was ripping his insides apart, not to mention how Castiel must feel. The angel gave up everything for him, did everything he could, and to repay his kindness, his love, with pain and ferocity, was too much a knife in his back. He would do anything for him, that much was certain – but how much was too much? How much could the angel take before he broke apart, just like Dean, becoming something no one needed nor wanted? How much could an Angel of the Lord take before he succumbed to darkness? He wanted to stay angry and yell over what he was being told, but he simply quieted and listened, willing himself to calm down.

“Your dream, Dean. I felt it, I saw it. We are connected, the Righteous Man and his angel. Your pain was and is mine, I know why it plagues you better than you know. Your experiences make no difference to the quality of man you are. You are special. Beautiful. No matter how you see yourself, those thoughts of worthlessness and being broken will never be true. When I saved you in Hell, your soul was the brightest beacon I have ever witnessed: a beautiful treasure, one to be loved and cherished and made whole. It is beauty incarnate, regardless of what transpires against you.”

For a moment, Dean didn’t say a word, just shook in quiet contemplation. Silence was becoming a regular thing between them, but there was no helping it. Castiel’s blue eyes were practically bulging out of his skull at this point, the same emotions swirling through them as before. Dean wanted to embrace him, hell, he wanted to cry into his fucking shoulder and feel at peace, but that wasn’t going to happen for either of them, especially after the angel dropped such a bombshell. He knew, without being told, that there was more to the story than that. If Castiel could feel the pain brought on by just a dream, Dean had a feeling it was much worse than he had anticipated, and the idea sickened him. If it was possible that the angel felt everything he had gone through, it would mean that he had inadvertently let them both down. He had given up after a while, allowed Erial to do whatever he wanted, and the idea that Cas knew, that Cas had somehow experienced his torment just as he had… it was nauseating.

“Cas… did you… could you see what Erial did to me?” His voice was practically a whisper, and the way Castiel grimaced and turned his head was enough of an answer for him.

Dean pushed him away, a sound escaping his throat that indicated pure agony on his part. He looked back immediately, watching an immediate change in Castiel as he rushed up against him, pushing him against a wall with a thud. Dean positively glared up at him, and the look in the angel’s expression was frightening, reminding him of the day after they met, when Castiel had growled that he could send him right back to Hell if he didn’t show him a little respect. Dean wanted to look away and keep his eyes on something else, but the angel wouldn’t let him. His hands gripped his shoulders, face a breath away, and Dean broke down in sudden anger.

“Son of a bitch… You fucking felt it, didn’t you? Experienced it? You were in pain because of me, Cas. Because I was weak and couldn’t stop it! It’s my fault, dammit. My fault you had to deal with this shit, all me. You should have left me in Hell when you had the chance! I deserve the flames and the fire, I deserve the torment for what I put you through!”

“No, Dean!”

The angel’s voice was deeper than ever, filled with the power and grace within him, hovering over Dean like a tiger waiting to pounce. He had shouted the words, looking as if he wanted to punch him or worse. The rage in his eyes made Dean flinch, but he didn’t back down, and his anger didn’t assuage. During the entire conversation, he had forgotten about Castiel’s angelic nature until he couldn’t see anything but the power radiating from him. For a split second, he hadn’t realized that this man was not a man at all, but a supreme being with the ability to squash him like a bug in under a second. But he wasn’t particularly afraid, no matter how strongly the look was affecting him. No, he was staring at him angrily, green eyes blazing with numerous emotions that were brimming to the surface. He wouldn’t give up, no matter how terrifying the look he was given. He didn’t believe Castiel would hurt him, and it gave him both the courage and the strength to look him in the eyes.

“I shared the pain that was inflicted upon you, brought about by _demons_. You are innocent, in no way does this reflect who you are or what you’ve become. If I hadn’t have taken some of your pain upon myself, you wouldn’t have survived. It was because of me that you healed, my grace a fleeting presence in your mind, keeping you alive. I… I couldn’t let you die! You are deserving of much more than death, no matter how much you pray for it or wish for it. You deserve life, happiness, everything you have always wanted, and no matter how bad the torture had gotten, I wasn’t about to let you succumb to death. I wasn’t going to, Dean. I couldn’t do it!”

The sudden shift in expression was enough to bring him to his knees. Castiel’s eyes were watery, looking closer and closer to tears. He looked like he wanted to cry and fall apart against him, and though he had wanted nothing more than to leave only moments ago, he was debating with himself. Comforting the angel was now top priority, but before he could move forward, before he could kiss away the pain and sadness, Castiel continued, eyes pleading.

“It was partly selfish, to allow you to suffer while touches of my grace healed you nightly. That’s why I felt it, Dean. I wouldn’t let you go through that on your own. I was always there, inside, in agony with you. I was humbled and brought to my knees at the strength you possessed. I prayed that you wouldn’t fight, that you would accept it. Each time you fought, the pain hit you twofold, and I wanted you to be spared the agony.

“Each night, I looked for you. I searched the world for you, regardless of the apocalypse. It took months, not to mention help from Sam, but I finally found you. I cradled you in my arms like the moment I saved you and raised you from perdition, bleeding and begging for me to spare your life. I wouldn’t let you die, Dean, I couldn’t allow it to happen. And I won’t allow you to fall apart now. I’m selfish, truly fallen from grace. But I won’t let you fall, Dean. You’re worth everything and more. I would die for you… I _have_ died for you. Whatever I have done, I did it for you, and would do it again.”

Dean was dumbfounded, absolutely stricken silly at the profession. The entire time, the entire fucking ordeal he had suffered through, was experienced not only by him, but by an angel who wanted nothing more than to save him from his pain. Though that idea was enough to enrage him, the fact that he had kept him alive was what really sent him overboard. Dean wanted to hit him at that moment, could see himself swinging a fist at his angelic face, but he knew he couldn’t actually go through with it. If the expression on the angel’s face was anything to go by, nothing would come out of pitching a fit and reacting in true Dean-fashion. Though he’d wanted to die more than anything during those heinous months of captivity and torture, he couldn’t say he wasn’t thankful – for completely selfless purposes. He had things to take care of, a brother to look after, an angel to comfort and console through the worst of times, and he couldn’t just die and leave them to their own devices.

But though he knew these things, it didn’t detract from the fact that he was damaged goods. Sure, Cas had helped to piece him together every time, but it would never change that fact. Though he knew this, knew it all with a clarity that was blinding, he didn’t stop himself from staring at the angel, who was willing to accept him for everything and more. The thought petrified him to the spot, gluing him to the floor and keeping him grounded. How the angel could love him so strongly, he would never know. He wanted to flee at that moment, to run away and never look back, to find himself in an empty field or desolate area and scream until he was hoarse. The look he was on the receiving end of kept him from leaving, however. He couldn’t run away from Cas, no matter how much he felt he needed to. He was necessary for the angel’s sanity, and vice versa. They needed to be close, never apart, and he finally understood the need, the straight _want_ , of comfort and love. Its strength surpassed that of his fear, and he knew, _knew_ , he was lost.

If Castiel could live with the fact that the man he loved was a monster and defiled, Dean was sure he could come to grips with himself in the future. It would be difficult, but since Castiel would do anything for him, he wanted to do whatever he could for his angel in return. Die for him? No problem. Do anything to make him happy? Definitely. But to heal over time from the damage that others had inflicted upon him, to heal from the damage he had thrust purposefully upon himself, both physically and emotionally? It would be challenging, but there was nothing Dean wouldn’t do for his angel at this point. The thoughts were swirling in his mind, coming together and combining piece by piece, and Dean finally understood what he needed to do. Running away wouldn’t give him closure, but being there for the angel, holding him, loving him, was what he needed to survive.

Dean was quiet as he contemplated, staring into the eyes of his angel, seeing undying love swirling in them. It was enough to humble him and make him see the rightness of the entire situation, enough to make him accept that no matter what had been done to him, what had happened between the two of them, they needed each other, and that would never change. No matter how dirty he saw himself, how decrepit and broken down, this being before him would always love him and do whatever he could for him… and thus, so would he.

In that moment, he welcomed the rush of love and admiration with tears in his eyes. He didn’t cry often, at least during happy moments, but the tears were warranted. He felt Castiel’s arms drop from his shoulders, hands wrapping around his waist and gripping tightly. Without warning, he was slammed against the angel’s body in a flurry of limbs, brought flush with the warmth coming off of him in waves. His angel was breathing hard, but he didn’t rush or pull him in for a kiss. Instead, he simply stood there, feeling him, arms quickly tightening around his back and keeping him close, seemingly basking in the closeness that threatened to eat him alive.

Dean was staring, unable to tear his eyes away from his angel’s eyes. They were reaching deep into his soul, pulling out the worst of him and soothing, cradling his broken soul and embracing it. The idea that Castiel, the angel who had pulled him from Hell, was the only creature capable of making him feel a semblance of relief, was a weight off his shoulders. With a choked sound, he grew closer, crowding the angel until his head was lying on his shoulder, perched sideways so he could continue to stare. He felt the angel’s arms moving, one hand resting on his chin and pulling him upward, while the other gripped the back of his head gently and held on for dear life.

Dean was transfixed on the being before him as their lips met sweetly, the lightest of touches that was enough to drive him insane with want. He uttered a groan of pleasure as his own arms tightened around the angel, pulling him as close as they could be before the kiss elevated into a mauling of mouths and tongues, a rough assault that had the two men weak with desire. Castiel buckled, dropping to his knees and taking Dean with him.

In moments, they were sprawled on the floor, Dean lying on top of Castiel, their mouths still fused as if nothing could break them apart. Dean’s hips swiveled expectantly, slamming his straining erection flush with the angel’s hard length. Both men gasped into their respected partner’s mouth, the sudden sensation too much to handle. He moved again, this time slowly, cock straining against the uncomfortable material of his sweats and giving him pause. He was practically weeping into the angel’s mouth as his pace quickened, and though he didn’t want to come in his pants like a teenager, he couldn’t seem to stop the unrelenting friction.

Castiel, however, gripped his hips and stopped the progression. Dean tried to move, to continue, but there was no winning with the strength of an angel. He groaned, pulling his mouth away and glaring upward. His angel simply watched him, lips curled to the side in a knowing smirk that made Dean want to cry out in pleasant agony. For a few moments, there was no movement, simply heat, a burning, clawing entity ripping him apart from the inside.

“You’re killing me, Cas.” He cooed, voice deep with the desire he felt, cock pounding with it.

He tried to inch forward and kiss the angel again, but still, he couldn’t move, held in place by that ungodly strength. Seconds away from shouting in exasperation, Castiel pushed him backward without a second thought, making sure not to bang his head against the floor. He straddled his hips and smiled, actually smiled, a full-blown expression of teeth that he had never seen from him before. The sight warmed him and made him moan, and Castiel reached forward and pulled Dean’s shirt over his head slowly, taking his time. The brush of skin against Castiel’s coat made him groan, the shuffle of material almost too much to handle. He couldn’t handle the slow pace, it was torture, driving him insane with each thrust of tongue, and his cock twitched. He wasn’t thinking clearly when he started thrusting upward, wanting nothing more than to feel the angel wrapped so tightly around him. He felt his resolve slip, and he screamed out.

“Fuck me, Cas. Please, just fuck me already!”

The words surprised him, a sudden surge of apprehension crawling up his spine even through the pleasure of their proximity. Apparently, the angel noticed his change in demeanor, because he leaned forward, keeping his body upward and away before kissing him gently on the lips. He bent his head toward his ear, fingers reaching beneath his shirt and tingling against his flesh, touching him in all the right places. His fingers ghosted against his hipbones, and though Dean was frightened, he agonized over the light touches that threatened to break him. Castiel’s tongue slid against his ear in a tantalizing display of affection, and he whispered quietly, voice silky sweet and dripping with passion.

“I won’t hurt you, Dean. I could _never_ hurt you. You’re going to have to trust me if we do this. I’m your angel, yours. Trust me. Allow me to pleasure you until you’re crying my name. Feel me everywhere and know that I will never let you hurt. I don’t want to fuck you. I want to love you, cherish you, bring you to a precipice and fall with you. I love you, Dean Winchester. More than anything, more than everything. More than Heaven, more than God.”

The admission was enough to quell the fear, Dean staring at Castiel with wide eyes and an open heart. He gripped the lapels of the angel’s overcoat, pulling him on top roughly and clashing his lips against his own. His face was wet, but the angel didn’t seem to mind as he kissed with a fervency that was downright scary. Dean held him close as he pushed the coat off of his shoulders, unable to do much else than that. Castiel took it upon himself to rip the jacket from his shoulders, throwing it without a care to the floor while Dean gripped his tie and pulled it, dropping it with trembling hands. Castiel was unbuttoning his shirt unceremoniously, still kissing him, unable to pull away from the sensations of lips against lips.

Dean’s tongue slid smoothly against his lips tauntingly as he gripped at his waist, pulling his pants down and away until they bundled at his feet, stopped by his shoes. Castiel was in nothing but boxers at this point, and when Dean motioned to pull them away with a quick motion, his precious angel stopped him. He slammed his chest against Dean’s, the touch of skin against skin warm and unrelenting. With his hands on Dean’s waist, he traveled down his body, tongue sliding hotly against skin. It swirled around each nipple, drawing quiet gasps from him with each sensuous slide.

Castiel sucked at his beaded nipples, giving each attention until Dean was mewling in rapture, hips slamming upward. Castiel quieted him down, licked one long stripe down his chest before he reached the line of his sweats. Gripping the edges, he pulled them down slowly, bunching the material as he brought it down inch by inch, still taking his sweet time, driving Dean crazy with each pull. Once the cool air jolted against his cock, his angel hurried to rip the pants away before placing a chaste kiss upon the tip, drawing another long gasp from the hunter.

“Jesus Christ, Cas. Are you trying to kill me?” The words came out in a breathless huff, drawing a chuckle from the angel as he pulled away for a moment, pulling off his shoes and slacks, followed by the pesky boxers, until he was stark naked for Dean’s appreciation. Dean licked his lips in anticipation, watching as the angel crept forward, eyes never leaving his. He was inching closer on his knees, and the sight had him dripping pre-come in a daze.

Castiel crawled forward, pushing Dean’s legs close together until his knees were on either side and locking him in place, his cock bobbing beautifully above his own, swollen, red, and dripping. It made Dean’s mouth water. He’d never been particularly attracted to men or their assets, but the sight of Castiel’s cock was like a dream. He wanted to taste it again, delight in the shouts and cries that would spew from the angel’s lips; but from the pained expression on his angel’s face, he was going to have to wait for another time. He looked like he was just about ready to burst, longing evident in those blue depths.

His angel leaned down and kissed the tip of his cock once again, and he moaned loudly, a sound that was probably enough to wake the dead. He felt the warmth and heat of his mouth surround him, taking him in in one fell swoop. His cock was devoured and puffed out the angel’s cheeks, but that wasn’t the best part. Castiel’s eyes stayed glued to his own, watching him even as he sucked him off, drawing pleading grunts and cries as he drew his tongue in a circular motion around the head. Dean gasped when he pulled off, only seconds later, replacing the spit and tongue with a lewd slide of cock against cock. Dean had no idea where the angel learned such techniques, but he was glad for it. The angel slapped his cock gently with a flick of his wrist, causing him to fall down onto his back and bang his head none too softly against the floorboard.

“Fuck. Cas, if you don’t get inside me right now, I’m not going to last.”

When Castiel didn’t speak, simply crawled up his body and kissed him softly, Dean cried out in agony. The pleasure was too much, blinding him, killing him. He motioned to grip his cock, to give up, but the angel grabbed his wrists and held them above his head, staring with purpose. His cock gave another twitch against the angel’s thigh when he saw what he was doing next. He leaned down, mouthing at the tie that was lying beside them, and lifted it up with just his teeth. The sight of the long, blue material seeping out of his lips was a fantasy Dean hadn’t known existed for him, and he groaned loudly when he felt the silk wrap around his wrists.

Dean turned away for a split second, and the sudden sound of wings flapping drew his gaze. For a second, Castiel was gone, disappeared right from under his nose. He cursed, but didn’t get far before the sudden warmth returned. He hadn’t realized, but he was laid out on the bed, and he was suddenly tied to the headboard by the silk, body naked and spread out for the angel’s pleasure. Castiel grinned, that expression that was meant solely for him, and held up a small tube in his right hand, along with a tiny package. Dean immediately knew it was lube and a condom, and he chuckled to himself. The sudden disappearance now made sense, though he still had no idea how virginal, angel Castiel had so much knowledge. As the angel stared, the idea of what was coming next was making Dean whimper, rather than run away in fear.

His angel took his sweet time yet again, no matter how crazed he felt. He opened the tube with gentle fingers, squeezing some into his palm and coating his hands and fingers before gripping Dean’s thighs and pulling him as close as he could get while he was tied, until his legs were draped over the angel’s broad shoulders. Moments later, Dean felt the invasion before he could say a word, a single finger piercing through his tight hole, slipping inside and curling knowingly. He jutted forward, crying out in a mixture of pleasure and a slight stab of pain. He didn’t think about Erial, about Hell, about anything but the feelings that engulfed him and held on for dear life. Castiel was whispering sweet nothings above him, a combination of languages that left him breathless and wanting.

“Cas… fuck. Give me another. Please.”

The angel’s chuckle was enough to kill him, but the moment a second finger was inched inside, he was undulating on the bed, pushing himself downward and swallowing the fingers whole. His hips moved of their own accord, the circular motion enough to drive him insane. When he felt the fingers inside him scissor, spreading him open and leaving him breathless, he wanted to cry out for more. Castiel felt his body tremble and took it as incentive to slam his fingers forward, hitting his prostate in a rough pulse which caused Dean to lean forward and cry out, eyes bulging out of his head, sweat pouring from his flesh and pooling on the sheets. He fell backward then, staring at the ceiling, listening to the harsh breaths exhaled by the angel, his own matching them in turn.

“Your cock, angel. I want your cock. Fuck me. Cas, just fuck me already. I can’t take any more than this. Stop teasing and fuck me.”

He needed to come desperately, but not before he felt the swollen weight inside him, pounding him into the mattress and bringing him to his own personal Heaven. Though he was begging now, the angel still didn’t rush, reaching downward and pulling his fingers out, one by one. Dean cried out at the loss of fullness, watching Castiel with attentive eyes. When he dipped forward, dropping Dean’s legs until they were on either side of him, he stared in surprise. The wet feeling of tongue sliding up and down his hole made him scream. Castiel was licking him like an ice cream cone, up and down, slowly, that relentless ache reaching fever pitch. His cock was engorged now, red as an apple and just begging for attention. He cried repeatedly with each swipe against his puckered hole, until the tongue left him. He groaned at the loss, twitching and frantically looking upward, trying to see what was happening.

That was when the angel lifted his head, licking his lips lasciviously, looking like a lecherous bastard. Dean was seeing stars by now, unable to comprehend the sight of his angel taunting him any longer. He closed his eyes and moaned repeatedly. Though the feeling was lost, he was still in a permanent cloud of bliss, his thoughts continued to return to the angel’s ministrations, making him beg for mercy. Just the thought of being tongued was enough to drive him over, but he held on. He bit his lip when he heard the sound of the cap of lube opening yet again, the squirt making him cry in anticipation.

“Please, please. Cas, oh my god. I don’t know where the fuck you learned this shit, but you’re a natural. Fuck me now, please. I’m begging you.”

Castiel reached forward and kissed him sloppily, a filthy slap of lips. The angel slid his tongue in and out of his mouth, a taunt that resembled sex. Dean’s hips plummeted forward, his cock sliding gently against his thigh again, causing Dean to gasp and shake. The angel gripped the head of his cock, squeezing down his orgasm and making him hit the pillows hard. He slammed his head repeatedly, agonized by the denial. Castiel licked his lips one last time before he bit into the condom package, pulling out the wretched thing and placing it snugly upon his cock, then lubing up accurately until he was satisfied, sliding his hand against his cock with a gasp. Dean could tell he was close, knew he wanted to come just as badly, but held it back behind his arrogant grin, wanting to fill him up. The angel gripped him by the thighs again, pulling his legs upward and wrapping them around his waist.

The head of his cock was at his entrance in moments, pushing slowly until he inched inside, deviously and slowly. The sounds that emanated from his lips were enough to destroy him thoroughly, growls and groans and whispers of ‘Dean’ that turned his insides out. The invasion gave Dean pause at first, making him shake, but he quickly overcame the fear, need blossoming in the pit of his stomach, rising and rising until there was nothing more he could want. He needed Castiel, needed him inside, and needed everything he could give and more. At first, the damned angel didn’t move, simply leaned there on his knees and stared forward, watching Dean’s reaction with obvious pleasure. Then, his hips slowly pushed forward until he was deep inside, his balls slapping against his perineum. He started to thrust, back and forth, slowly at first until he set a slow rhythm that had Dean seeing white. The feeling was blinding, and he moaned with each thrust.

When the pace began to pick up, his head continuously slammed into the bed over and over, while the headboard creaked and banged against the wall. A litany of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ escaped his lips with each pressing slam. Castiel was gasping behind him, his fingers digging into the flesh of his hips tightly. The angel bent forward suddenly, sliding his tongue against his lower back in a flexible movement. The wet slide of his tongue, the slamming of his hips, and the feeling of his fingers tightening in his flesh was what drove him over the edge.

He felt his orgasm creep up, even without his cock being touched, slamming into him from his center, reaching every corner of his body and filling him with heat. His eyes rolled into the back of his head but he didn’t pass out this time, wanting to feel it all, needing it more than oxygen. His cock pulsed, come spurting against the angel’s stomach and chest, painting him in a filthy picture. He groaned with the force of it, how unending it was, until he had nothing left to give.

He felt Castiel’s hand on his cock at the end, milking him, drawing out the last bit of come before he was limp. The angel still pummeled into him, but it didn’t take long before he joined him in bliss. The lights flickered and died out, sunlight the only source of light in the room, bouncing off of Castiel’s skin beautifully. He felt his angel fall forward after pulling out of him, his chest heaving against his own. Dean stifled a chuckle when Castiel leaned forward to kiss him gently on the lips, hands caressing him everywhere, perhaps committing the feel of him to memory.

“You wanna untie me now, angel?” He muttered quietly, voice filled with mirth as he watched his angel loosen the tie until it fell from his wrists.

Dean gripped his shoulders and pulled him close, snuggling into his chest and pulling him against his body, skin to skin. Castiel dropped his head against his neck, placing small kisses against his collarbone until he breathed out a sigh of contentment. They laid there for a while, not sure how much time went by before Dean realized something. He glanced up, taking a look at the clock that was hanging on the wall. Hours had passed since they’d started, and he had no idea where his brother had gotten off to. He started to sit up, but Castiel pushed him down, glaring.

“What are you doing?”

His voice was deep, as if he was sleepy. Though he was an angel, the physical activity was probably enough to knock him out. Dean chuckled at the idea for a split second before panic set in.  He was too enraptured in the angel, unable to think clearly when it mattered. His brother could be anywhere by now, and he felt his air supply constrict at the prospect.

“I have to go find Sam, Cas. He was supposed to get some food; apparently that was hours ago, man. What if he’s in trouble?”

The chuckle leaving Castiel’s lips was disconcerting, and for a moment he wondered why he was laughing about such a serious matter before the angel pulled him in tight, snuggling into his neck one more time. Dean was seconds away from slapping him off when he shook his head.

“Sam is fine. In fact, he called me here, told me how you were acting, that there was something wrong. He said he was going to go out for a while, give us time alone. How else did you think I found you? I always come when you call, Dean, even inadvertently.”

Dean sighed, the last of his fear leaving him in a rush as he kissed the top of Castiel’s head gently. Emotions bombarded him from every angle, and he smiled against his angel’s forehead, unable to believe his life had turned out like it had. Sure, they still had an apocalypse looming over their heads, and not to mention the devil and Michael gunning for their bodies, but at least there was something good to have come out of the entire ordeal: he had Cas, his angel, the sweet boon that made his life meaningful.

“Damn, but I love you, Cas."

He hugged him tight, breathing in the scent of the angel, love shining like his angelic grace. Though he had gone through so much torture and torment, had been violated again and again by demons, and had his head thoroughly screwed with, he knew he could live with it all. He had many things that could give him strength and keep him going. He had his car, his hunting, and the brother that cared about him enough to give him both space and time. And more importantly, he had his angel, the balm that kept him sane, the very being who sacrificed himself at every opportunity just to keep him functional, the man who loved him with his entire being. Though he recognized what had been done to him, he also accepted it. He accepted the torture, the rape, the hell he suffered and more. He accepted the love and admiration for his angel, which was returned in kind, and knew in the long run, that they were going to be okay.


End file.
